


For What We Are

by Hekate1308



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Demon Dean Winchester, FBI Agent Castiel, M/M, Minor Character Death, destiel au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-03 11:31:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 33
Words: 134,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1743167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hekate1308/pseuds/Hekate1308
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel Novak was one of the best agents the FBI had ever had. His new case, however, was almost too much to handle even for him. With the arrival of Dean Winchester, a demon, he realized that his world wasn't as black and white as he had thought. Destiel. AU. FBI agent!Castiel, demon!Dean Winchester.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to try something new. I've been a fan of Supernatural for a while now, and I adore Dean's and Cas' relationship. So this is a Destiel AU. I won't update daily; I hope I'll update weekly. The chapters will be longer than usual.
> 
> I don't own anything, neither characters nor the images I used creating the Cover Image.
> 
> Please review.

                                                                               [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/152622165@N06/35032104044/in/dateposted/)                                                                                                                                           

It was a night in July. The sunset had caused a velvet blanket to drop over the town, and the oppressive heat that had been hanging over it for the last few days hadn't abated, making people decide to sleep with their windows open.

It wasn't necessary for his plan, but it certainly made things easier.

He slipped through the darkness, barely stirring the grass through which he passed on his way to the window at the back.

As he had expected, a window on the first floor had been left open.

He smiled.

There were protections, of course, but nothing he couldn't handle.

However –

Looking up at the house, a fleeting memory touched his mind. Him and his kid brother, playing in the backyard.

He hadn't thought about it for a long time. He had forgotten about it, and he had no desire to remember now. The memory sank back into the remains of his soul, into the dark, bloody _thing_ that formed the core of his being.

He wouldn't fail.

He had been born to this, had been made into what he was to fulfil this assignment, and he wouldn't fail.

He stood in front of the house, remembering what he had been taught, what was expected of him. He wouldn't fail.

Slowly, he began to climb up to the window.

* * *

It had been a normal day until now. Special Agent Castiel Novak had filled reports and listened to his superior's explanations about the budget once again; not that it mattered, seeing as he had meant the budget concerning office supplies, and he'd always been economical with his paperclips.

It was a normal day, no cases, like it had been for weeks. He enjoyed the breathing space, even if it meant he had little to do and returned to an empty house at the same time every evening.

At 4 pm, the call came.

It was strange that the local police should call in the Bureau when there was no evidence that a multiple offender was behind the murder. Normally they preferred looking into the case themselves. They only notified the FBI when they saw no other way, and Castiel was immediately suspicious when he heard that they had all but begged for their help.

It meant that whatever had happened – it was bad.

Henricksen called him into his office.

It didn't come as a surprise. For the last half hour, several of his colleagues had passed his office to tell him about the strange call. Word travelled fast in the Bureau. And he was usually the man to go to for things like this, if he said so himself.

He might be young, only in his early thirties, but he had had more than ten years experience and he was good. Like his father before him.

"It's a strange one" Henricksen told him. "Lawrence, Kansas. Body was found an hour ago".

"Only an hour? Why did they call us?" Castiel asked. His boss preferred a direct approach. He couldn't stand it when people tried to pry answers out of him by being too subtle.

Henricksen shook his head. "It's not entirely clear. The body appears to be mutilated, and there's weird stuff in the victim's house – they're freaked out."

""Freaked out?" That's why they called us? No other information?" Castiel inquired, incredulous. It wasn't the Bureau's policy to pay attention to calls that not only failed to specify what was going on but also disregarded the official applications that had to be filled or before they could get involved.

The other man sighed. "I know. But if we help them out, even though they probably don't need us, other PDs might not be so reluctant to call us when they do."

That was why Castiel hated politics. They made it so much more difficult to do his job. And that Lawrence's PD apparently hadn't followed the rules but sent out a call and hoped that they would answer still irked him. He preferred his cases done correctly and by the book. There was no risk of a criminal escaping justice because of faulty procedures this way.

Henricksen was aware of this. Which made it strange that he had called Castiel to his office in the first place.

"Castiel" he began and the agent immediately understood that he was asked to do something he definitely should if he cared about his career. Henricksen had only used his first name on a number of occasions, and it had always been with the same tone: a mixture between pleading and subtle threats.

"I need you to go there and assess the situation. If there's nothing there, tell them they can do it on their own. Assure them that they didn't waste your time, though. We need the local PDs to trust us. Write a report, file it. Then we can forget about it".

"And if there is something?" He knew his boss, and he had heard the hesitation when he'd pronounced "nothing".

Henricksen gave him a wry smile.

"Then you call and we'll send reinforcement".

He didn't look forward to travel miles for a case that might not be one, and that without knowing what he had to expect. But Henricksen was his superior, and he wouldn't disobey an order.

He nodded and stood up.

"Jet's waiting" Henricksen said and Castiel raised an eyebrow. It wasn't normal for them to use a jet. He had expected to either fly in economy class or drive.

"If this is nothing, we can't afford to have you travelling across the country. You might be needed here".

It was a flimsy excuse, and Henricksen knew it. Obviously Castiel wasn't supposed to ask further questions, and after a quick goodbye he left the office. Someone at the Bureau must owe someone at Lawrence PD a favour, he decided. Someone of the higher-ups. And they sent him to look at the mess and explain their job to the police.

He sighed. He really would have preferred paperwork over this.

He grabbed his overnight bag from his office and made his way to the jet, only stopping once to explain where he was going to Balthazar, one of the few co-workers he considered a friend.

"You have to tell me all about the nightlife of Lawrence, Kansas when you come back" he said sarcastically. Castiel rolled his eyes and strolled on. Balthazar knew he wasn't as annoyed with him as he affected to be.

The jet was already waiting for him when he got to the airport. He spent the flight looking out of the window. He felt jumpy, nervous. It didn't have anything to do with the flight – he had never had any problems with height – but he should have a file before him, reports, maps. He wasn't used to running into a crime scene and not knowing what awaited him.

As it turned out, Lawrence PD had sent a car.

A young PC was waiting for him. Castiel saw his eyes linger on the trench coat that he invariably wore, the tie he never managed to tie correctly, his hair that would never stay flat once he'd combed it.

The man realized that he was impolitely staring and greeted him.

"Agent Novak? Constable Connors".

They shook hands and after he'd entered the car, Castiel asked, "What can you tell me?"

Connors waited a few moments before answering, and it told Castiel a lot. He may be young, but the PC should be used to gruesome sights. It came with the job.

"It's – " He cleared his throat. "It's a local man, George Stevens. Didn't work as far as we know. He was found almost four hours ago. The postman had a package he needed him to sign and when he wouldn't open, he looked through the window..." He trailed off and gripped the steering wheel tighter. His knuckles were turning white. Castiel decided not to rush him, letting him tell the story at his own pace. He was stressed enough.

"He was – lying in the living room. He had been mutilated."

"Mutilated? How?" Castiel asked automatically. Questions like these were his job, and he couldn't always stop himself.

"Eviscerated" Connors replied tensely. "His inner organs were lying on the furniture. It looked like a bizarre arrangement..."

He took a left turn and continued, "And then there was the stuff the victim kept at his house."

"I was told he kept some weird items" Castiel replied. He waited for Connors to elaborate, which he soon did.

"There was this pentagram drawn on the ceiling of one of the rooms; there were smaller ones all around the house, and salt everywhere".

"Couldn't it have been the killer?"

"The pentagrams look fairly old. And he kept an arsenal – shotguns, colts, knives".

Castiel nodded, thinking over what he had just heard. He never theorized before he had seen the crime scene or photos but it was strange that a man should keep an arsenal in his house.

"You said he didn't work?"

"Not as far as we can tell. Neighbours say they didn't know him – kept to himself. None of them thought him a nut job who'd have enough ammunition to blow away half the population, though".

Neighbours rarely did. Castiel could remember countless interviews like the ones the PD was conducting at the moment.

" _He was a little strange, of course, but he always greeted politely"._

" _He was so nice to the kids"._

" _I can't imagine – really? But he was just a normal guy..."_

They wouldn't get anything useful out of the neighbours. Most likely not even the family members, if he had any.

Connors seemed to guess where his thoughts were going and said, "He didn't have any relatives or friends, apparently".

A lonely man with an arsenal. It was not a good combination. Nothing he had heard, however, had convinced Castiel that this was more than a strange murder case that would stay a one-time-only for Lawrence. If this continued to be so, he could be back in Quantico in the evening.

He would have to study the strange symbols at the crime scene and the arrangement of the organs before he could be sure, of course. This might be the first crime of a serial killer, although it was unlikely. They seldom emerged with a mature modus operandi. They should have seen similar cases before now.

He realized he was theorizing without having seen any evidence and quickly concentrated at the view out of the window.

It looked like any other town, like any others he had seen in the past few years. According to the research he had done on the plane, it had a higher crime rate than most cities in Kansas, but he doubted that all murders were like this. The victim had been mutilated and eviscerated...

A few minutes later, Connors took a right turn into a quiet street. In front of them, Castiel saw the police tape and cars in front of a two storey house.

They got out of the car and made their way to the front door, Castiel ignoring the strange looks he got because he was still wearing his trench coat.

Connors led him to a middle-aged man who was standing on the lawn, looking tired.

"Agent Novak" Castiel said, extending his hand.

The other man took it and replied, "DI Thompson. Glad you could make it. It's – we don't get a lot of that around here".

Castiel nodded and the DI led the way into the living room. They stopped at the front door where he was handed a suit and gloves. Connors automatically took his trench coat and Castiel gave him a grateful nod. Normally he had to ask if he could put it somewhere.

Crime scene techs were still working the place, and the body hadn't been moved; Castiel suspected it had been left there for him, since normally on a day like this they would have wanted to get it to the mortuary as quickly as possible.

The victim lay in the middle of the floor, his arms stretched out on either side of his body. The stench of blood lay heavy in the air, but he had enough experience to ignore it. Castiel kneeled down next to him, careful not to disturb anything, and let his gaze sweep over the injuries. There were a few slashes on his face, but he was still recognizable. He'd been a man about forty, dark hair, brown eyes.

He was naked. His body had been ripped open from the sternum downwards, stopping before the genitals. His organs – he could make out a kidney, the liver and part of the entrails – had been laid out in the form of crosses on the sofa and the table.

It looked ritualistic, but not as precise as Castiel would have imagined. Three of the crosses could hardly be recognized as such. If this was an important part of his ritual, the murderer would have paid attention. He wouldn't have allowed them to look so messy.

He didn't voice his thoughts, not yet. He had to see the rest of the house first.

A crime scene tech called out, and Castiel and DI Thompson went over to her.

She'd lifted a corner of the carpet and pointed at a marking on the floor.

"I'd say it's part of a pentagram. Same kind we've found in the rest of the house".

Thompson nodded. "I assume you want to see the rest?" he asked Castiel.

"Yes please".

There were three more rooms on the ground floor; a kitchen, a toilet, and an office.

Thompson pointed out several pentagrams on the hallway, as well as one in front of every door.

"Don't think the killer made them".

"No, it doesn't look like that".

Castiel kneeled down and scrutinized the symbol that was painted in front of the door of the office.

"It looks like the line was broken, and he painted it over". He pointed at a part of the circle around the pentagram that was lighter.

Thompson nodded.

"Any ideas?"

Castiel stood up and shrugged. He would have preferred not to assume before he'd had a chance to look at the other rooms, and perhaps find something that told him what significance the pentagrams had had for George Stevens, but Thompson was looking at him expectantly.

"Pentagrams are supposed to keep witches away."

"I thought witches used them?"

"Some of them do, but even if he was interested in witchcraft, why would he paint them everywhere if he only needed them for a ritual?" Castiel paused and, after a short deliberation, decided to say out loud what he'd felt since he'd seen the hallway, full of the symbols "This seems like he was protecting himself".

"From what?"

"I don't know".

"Maybe he was paranoid" Thompson theorized. "Thought witches were out to get him".

Castiel nodded to show that he was listening, although he was concentrating on the office. It was clean, impeccable even. The murderer either hadn't been here or he'd cleaned afterwards. Thinking of the living room, Castiel decided the first was more likely.

He went to the bookcase. Most agents preferred to start at the desk, but he'd always felt that books revealed a lot about a person.

He frowned as he scanned the titles. Many were in foreign languages, and all seemed to be about lore, mythology, witchcraft or urban legends.

"Latin" he mumbled to himself. "Ancient Greek. Enochian". There were a few other languages he recognized and he named them one after the other, more for his benefit than that of the DI.

"Enochian?" Thompson asked.

Castiel nodded.

"Late sixteenth-century England. It was transmitted by a medium. It's used in magical rituals."

Thompson looked at him. "You seem to know a lot about rituals".

Castiel shrugged. "It helps". He didn't feel that explaining his interest in occultism and magic as well as religion, all from a scientific standpoint, would be beneficial to his relationship with the DI. Many people regarded magic as strange, even after centuries in which it had been proven not to exist; and he needed his trust if he wanted to work the case.

He looked at the bookcase once more to give himself a few seconds to sort his thoughts when he realized that he had just assumed he would be working the case. This wasn't a serial killer, until further cases showed up; he hadn't even seen the rest of the house. And yet here he was, ready to start.

Something about this case – it just felt _different_. He couldn't explain it, it just did. From the moment he had entered the house – no, not only then. He had to admit that, while he had been annoyed that he was sent here... Something, a premonition...

Castiel forced the thoughts away. He had to decide whether or not this was a case the Bureau should follow, and right now there was no evidence of a link between states or a serial killer. Therefore, it seemed unlikely that he would work the case.

He went to the desk and quickly looked through the drawers. There were more documents in foreign languages, and more than once he read the words _δαιμόνιον_ , _daimon_ and _demon_ , but there was no clue to George Stevens' killer.

It told him precious little about the victim as well. He had obviously been interested in the occult, he had been scared – the pentagrams proved that he'd tried to protect himself. But scared of what? Based on what Castiel had seen so far, he'd been scared of monsters, ghosts, demons – he couldn't exactly say what, but apparently it had to do with the supernatural, and nothing supernatural had committed this murder. It had been a man, a man with a lot of hate towards the victim, but as far as Castiel could tell, he had done nothing to warrant such ferocity.

He turned to Thompson.

"I'd like to see the rest of the house".

He hadn't yet laid eyes on the arsenal and was very aware of the fact. It meant that he had kept his weapons upstairs – not unusual if one owned one gun to defend oneself against burglars, but since there appeared to be a whole collection of arms, Castiel found it strange that he hadn't kept it in his office or in a safe. Then again, there could be a safe upstairs – once more, he thought bitterly that it would be easier if he'd had files to study before coming here. Maybe he shouldn't be too angry, however; he had seen the body at the crime scene, and that happened seldom enough.

Being called in early had it upsides and his downsides, he guessed.

Thompson led the way again. He went straight into the bedroom.

There was barely any furniture; a bed, a bedside table, two cupboards. Castiel immediately thought that there must be a reason for the second one. Most people who lived alone were satisfied with one cupboard.

He was right.

The DI opened the one next to the door. It appeared to be empty until he reached out and moved his hand along the back. A wooden panel all but fell into his hand and he dew it out.

"We put it back the way we found it until the crime scene people take a good look at it."

Castiel was looking at the arsenal, and he had to admit it was impressive one. Colts, shotguns (two of them sawed off), knives that looked like they were made of silver, sables, and, strangely, some bottles of water.

"I assume he didn't have permits for the weapons?"

"You'd assume right. He had a permit for one shotgun, but that's it. Don't understand the water. Didn't think of him as a survival freak".

No, it didn't fit. There had been no survival books in the office, and no attempts to protect the house from attacks other than the supernatural kind, which really meant there had been no security system at all.

What had George Stevens needed an arsenal for?

"The shells for the shotgun appear to be handmade" Castiel said, leaning into the cupboard. "Analyzing them might offer some clues." It was a long shot, but in a murder investigation every trail was worth pursuing.

He more felt than saw Thompson nod as he turned around and focused on the rest of the room.

There were only two things on the bedside table: a crime novel and a picture.

Castiel picked up the photograph. It showed a young girl around twenty, smiling at the camera.

"I was told he had no family?"

"Not that we know of. I have my guys working on at as we speak". Thompson took the picture out of his hand.

"Pretty".

Castiel didn't comment and opened the drawer of the cupboard. Reading glasses and tissues, a flask as well as a gun.

"He certainly felt threatened" he stated as he took out the flaks and sniffed at it.

"Water" he continued, surprised. He had several bottles of water in the cupboard, yet he had a flask in his bedside table? It didn't make sense.

Nothing about this case made sense. The victim had been interested in witchcraft – but why kill him and use crosses as symbols? A satanistic killer, or someone who shared his interest in the occult, probably wouldn't have used Christian symbols, and the crosses were obviously supposed to imitate those found at churches. And the victim – he hadn't had any friends or family, but hadn't disturbed anyone. He had kept to himself, not spoken about his beliefs, whatever they may have been...

Castiel couldn't see a motive, and that would point towards a serial killer. But why George Stevens?

He tried to remember the victim's position on the floor. He had been naked, but there were no blood stains in the rest of the house, which meant he had been killed where he was found. Either he had been naked or the murderer had undressed him. There were no signs of a break in. He might have let his murderer in. Which, together with his lack of clothes, indicated –

No. Castiel doubted that this was a crime of passion. Why mutilate the victim in this manner?

He quickly looked over the bathroom and a guest room that had served more as storage. In the latter, they found many boxes.

"There're books in some of them, bones in others" Thompson pointed them out, "and some of them have weird markings on them. We haven't even opened them yet."

Castiel looked at them and wondered if he should investigate them now, but decided against. The less they risked contaminating the crime scene, the easier it would be for the forensics.

He walked downstairs, followed by the DI. They left the house and stood on the lawn, glad to breathe the fresher air. Castiel got out of the plastic suit and put on his trench coat that Connors brought over immediately.

"What do you say?"

It was the question he had feared. Thompson obviously thought that he'd need all the help he could get. He wouldn't have a problem with Castiel working the case. But he didn't know if there was a case, at least for the Bureau.

And yet – he could feel it in his bones. Something had happened, something strange, something big, and he had to find out what. Normally, he tried to ignore feelings and do his job to the best of his abilities.

He couldn't, this time. The realization came so quickly and was so obviously true that it scared him.

"I don't know yet" he found himself saying. "I'll stay a few days, observe how the case develops".

Thompson smiled, relieved.

"I appreciate it. I know this isn't exactly – the DCI knows someone, and – "

"I told you I'm staying" Castiel interrupted, harsher than he intended. He didn't have to hear about any politics that had played a part in him being sent here. This was about the case, not about someone higher-up doing someone a favour.

Thompson didn't take it personally, only nodded, and left Castiel alone as he pulled out his phone.

He didn't know what to tell his superior.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have decided that Wednesday should be update day.  
> This is my first Destiel AU, and I would be glad to hear what you think.

He should have called Henricksen, but instead he dialled Balthazar’s number. If anyone could understand his strange instinct, it was the other agent. They had met at the academy and knew each other very well, had worked several cases together with great success.

“Already missing me?” he answered, the slight accent that betrayed his upbringing near Quebec more noticeable over the phone.

“It has to be that, because you would never call me if you hadn’t talked to Henricksen first...”

There was mirth in his voice, and Castiel resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Balthazar was delighted when he broke the rules, since he claimed that many of them hindered their work. Castiel disagreed with him.

Now was not the time for a discussion about the Bureau’s work ethics, however.

“I – “ he began but stopped when he realized he didn’t know what to say. How could he explain that he thought they should take this case because it felt like they should?

“Are you lost for words? You never run out of ways to surprise me”.

“Balthazar”. Something in his voice must have told the other agent that he didn’t appreciate being made fun of at the moment, and he fell silent, waiting for Castiel to explain.

“This case – it doesn’t feel right”.

“By what little you told me, Cassie, the man was mutilated. It’s only natural that you should think so”.

He didn’t even flinch at the nickname he’d hated at first but grown used to over the course of their friendship.

“No, it’s – there’s no sign that it’s a serial killer. His modus operandi should have appeared in a less mature form before now. And no state lines have been crossed. But...”

“You want to take the case”. If Balthazar was surprised that he wanted to take a case based on instinct, he didn’t let him know.

“I think” he said diplomatically “it would be the right thing to do. You’re going to tell Henricksen?”

He didn’t have to answer that question. Of course he would. He could only hope that he would be allowed to stay.

Balthazar seemed to realize what he was thinking.

“Don’t worry, you’ve always got silly old me. Send me the photos; I’ll take a look at them and help convince the boss”.

Castiel smiled. He had been sure he could depend on Balthazar. He would have to pay him a drink once he returned.

“I will” he replied, “Goodbye”.

He hung up without another word, knowing Balthazar wouldn’t hold it against him, and went to search the crime scene tech who’d raised the carpet.

She gladly sent him the photos she’d taken so far, and he forwarded them to Balthazar as well as their superior.

“So” she asked, “does this mean you’re going to stay?”

“I don’t know yet” he answered honestly. He wanted to stay, felt he needed to stay, but he couldn’t say why, and neither could he predict what Henricksen would say.

“We’d be glad”. He quickly decided that she meant mostly herself. Many locals didn’t like the FBI working with them. “We don’t get a lot of that out here”.

He nodded. “Thank you for the pictures, – ?”

“Rachel” she said, smiling. He smiled back, thankful that he’d found at least one forensic who would help him with the evidence if he needed it, then excused himself to call Henricksen.

He picked up immediately.

“What is that?”

“I don’t know” Castiel said.

“You want to stay”. It was a statement, not a question, and he wondered if Balthazar had already told their boss that this was an unusual case, one that required their attention, and if he had found arguments besides the strangeness of the crime and Castiel’s feeling that there was more behind this than a one-time-only atrocity.

“This is – This case is... unusual”.

“I saw the pictures. But nothing is pointing to a serial killer so far – “

“It could be”.

Castiel was aware that he was bargaining, which he rarely did, but he –

He didn’t understand why, he suddenly realized. Why this need to stay? Why the feeling that he had to see this through? It didn’t make sense.

And yet he was relieved when Henricksen said, “Alright. You have one week. If you don’t have any proof that this falls under our jurisdiction then, you come back”.

“Yes, sir” Castiel automatically replied. They ended their talk soon afterwards.

He saw DI Thompson leave the house and went to meet him.

“I’m staying” he said, “for now, at least”.

He could read relief in the man’s eyes. He must be more shocked at the crime than he let on.

“Connors will bring you to a hotel” he replied, and Castiel’s gaze travelled back to the house. He knew he couldn’t do anything while the forensics were still at work, and the sun was setting, and yet he wished he could stay. He would only hinder the others’ work, though, and it was an irrational impulse anyway.

Connors cleared his throat, and he realized he’d been staring at the house. He turned to Thompson with what he hoped was an apologetic look and shook his hand and left with Connors after they had agreed to meet at eight o’ clock in the morning at the DI’s office.

He got in the car and looked at the house again. He was still watching it when it disappeared in the rear view mirror.

“I’ll take you to the Astoria Hotel” the Constable explained, and Castiel thought that he should probably have asked where he was being brought. “It’s nice and comfy. Not too expensive either”.

He knew that Henricksen wanted them to keep the budget as low as possible and was therefore relieved to hear it. He always made sure not to book too expensive hotels when the Bureau was called to consult on a case. Balthazar had sat through more than one lecture on the subject, but still insisted that he had to be comfortable if he was to work properly – “comfortable” including a hotel bar and at the very least three stars in his mind.

Castiel had nothing against a comfortable bed – he’d slept on too many hard mattresses not to appreciate it – but he would never complain about his lodging. The work they did was important.

As it turned out, he needn’t have feared. The hotel was indeed comfortable, his room was clean, and the receptionist was very friendly. She and Connors appeared to know each other, which made Castiel suspect that his recommendation hadn’t been as casual as it seemed, but there was no reason to complain. Connors was a nice man, and the hotel more than met his expectations.

They came just in time for dinner, and to his relief, Connors left him to have it on his own. He wasn’t good at small talk, and speaking of the case would have been considered inappropriate for reasons Castiel never really understood.

It was all that he was on his mind as he ate, and later in his room, he was still going over it, looking at the pictures Rachel had given him on his laptop.

It was strange. Why would a killer who was so ferocious to go into frenzy and eviscerate a man leave no traces in the rest of the house? No blood stains, no clues. It didn’t make sense. And how had the killer got in? There were no signs of a break-in. But would George Stevens have trusted someone who was so unhinged as to commit the murder? Castiel knew that many killers, psychotic and non-psychotic, could fool others into trusting them. But this crime... Could someone who was planning on committing it convince the victim to let him into his house? Shouldn’t there have been a gleam in his eye, a certain attitude, that told off –

Castiel sighed, annoyed at himself. He was getting whimsical. Of course an intelligent killer would have been able to con himself into the house.

But he couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t what had happened.

Feelings. Here they were again. He couldn’t trust his instinct over the facts, especially when he wasn’t in possession of all the facts.

He checked the titles of the books in the office and began to research them. As he had expected, all of them had to do with some form of mythology. He then looked up the pentagrams and learned that he had been right; they were supposed to protect people from supernatural influences.

The victim had been afraid. But from what? Had he simply imagined that creatures were after him? Or had the threat he’d tried to protect himself from been real, had it led to his death?

Balthazar called just as he was about to call him.

“Well, Cassie, it’s a strange one, I’ll give you that. The rest of the house is spotless. And then, of course, is the victim’s collection. Normally I’d expect something like a hideout out back.”

“There is no evidence that he was a survivalist” Castiel said.

“He didn’t shoot around in the backyard, did he?”

“The neighbours didn’t mention it. They would have”.

“So he wasn’t a regular gun nut either. And why all the books on lore and demons?”

“He was interested in the topic” Castiel answered, completely serious. He realized from Balthazar’s sigh that he had once more given an obvious answer his colleague hadn’t cared about.

“I know that” he said. “What I want to know is why”.

Castiel thought about his own collection that ranged from Science Fiction to books about the solar system, and asked, “Does there have to be a reason?”

“In this case, I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a reason for everything. Even people who’re interested in this stuff don’t paint pentagrams on their floor.”

“No” Castiel said slowly, “Normally they don’t.”

He quickly told Balthazar what he had found out.

“He could have been crazy”.

“Or there could have been a reason for his fear.”

“So you think a ghost got him?”

“It doesn’t have to be a ghost. The pentagram is supposed to protect one from many monsters” Castiel replied and paused a moment before adding, “maybe he saw the person who killed him as one.”

“That’s a stretch. I mean, I can see him being afraid of someone – but painting pentagrams?”

“Don’t forget the salt” Castiel said, looking closely at a picture.

“What?”

“There was a salt-like substance on at least one windowsill”.

He hadn’t noticed it before because the line had been broken, but there was definitely salt or a substance that looked like it in a room on the first floor. He was angry at himself; he should have noticed. Normally he did notice. It was just a case, he told himself. Like any other.

“So we are searching for a crazy killer who killed a crazy person”.

“Protecting oneself isn’t crazy” Castiel said softly, “no matter what strange measure one takes.”

Balthazar sighed. “I suppose you are right. Still – doesn’t seem very safe to me.”

They brainstormed a little longer without coming up with any ideas then hung up. Castiel continued to look through the pictures. But there was no clue. He would have to wait for the reports. Why did that make him nervous? He was used to waiting, and he had never been impatient. What was it about this case?

He rubbed his eyes and looked at his watch. It was long past midnight. He had worked for over six hours without producing results.

He shut off his laptop and went to bed. He wanted to be rested when he met DI Thompson. Despite or maybe because of the hours he had spent staring at the pictures, he found it difficult to fall asleep.

Eventually, he dozed off. His sleep was full of images of the house. He slept fitfully and woke up before his alarm sounded, feeling like he’d barely slept at all. It wasn’t often that a case haunted him, but this one did after he’d not even been on it a day and might not be working it much longer. This wasn’t a good sign. He hoped that either the forensics had found something or that at the end of the week he would return to Headquarters.

He should have hoped.

Because he didn’t.

He wanted, he had to see this case to the end.

And he couldn’t say why.

Connors picked him up; the young Sergeant looked rested, and Castiel wondered if he had been in the house long. Maybe not.

DI Thompson hadn’t slept better than him, by the looks of it. He greeted him wearily, offered him coffee which he gladly accepted and gesticulated towards a chair before letting himself fall into his own. He handed Castiel a report. It was short and to the point and signed by a R. Miller. He realized distractedly that Rachel hadn’t told him her last name while he read it over; after he had laid in on the table, Thompson quickly repeated what he had read, frustration evident in his voice.

“Salt on the windowsills” he said, “and the pentagrams were painted with ordinary paint. No traces of the killer. No DNA, no fingerprints... It’s like a phantom killed George Stevens.”

“Anything on the victim?” Castiel asked. He had feared that they wouldn’t get much from forensic. The house had been too clean. Had the killer cleaned it? No, that made no sense. He hadn’t bothered to clean the blood in the living room.

Thompson nodded. “A few things, but I don’t think it’ll help much.”

He opened a file in front of him.

“George Stevens, forty-three. Never married, hadn’t worked in years. The house belonged to his parents. Where he got the money to pay for groceries, books, the weapons – we don’t know. He had no family left. He seems to have stopped working – he was a carpenter – after – Remember the picture in the bedroom?”

“Yes.”

“His sister. Melissa; three years younger than him. Died when she was twenty. She had taken a hike in the woods, and pieces of her body were found two weeks later. They were not able to find the missing parts; a bear must have killed her, eaten the rest”.

“It was twenty years ago then”, Castiel said, quickly calculating that she would have been forty years old.

Twenty years. George Stevens had lost his sister twenty years ago. And yet he had had her picture on his bedside table. Nothing else in the house told of a human connection. Just the one picture.

He must have been lonely. All alone in this house, no friends, no family. Only the memory of his sister to keep him company. A memory that must in the course of time have become tainted with nostalgia. They must have been close. He wouldn’t have kept her picture otherwise, at least not where he could see it every day.

Castiel thought of Gabriel, somewhat wistfully. His brother had gone long before their father had passed away. For a long time, they hadn’t know whether he was dead or alive, and when he had contacted them, it had only been to tell them that they should stop looking for him and that he was fine. Castiel understood why he had gone, knew that he hadn’t wanted to fulfil the expectations their father had in him, but he hadn’t forgiven him.

If one of them died, the other wouldn’t have their picture on his bedside table.

He forced the thought away and concentrated on what else DI Thompson had to say. He took another picture of the folder and handed it to him. It showed Stevens’ gun collection.

“Like I said: No idea where he got the money to pay for these. Or where he got them.”

“It’s not that difficult to buy weapons illegally” Castiel said.

“True, but he didn’t even have a permit for one. It’s just – the neighbours liking him, no shooting practice in the backyard... I know gun nuts, and he wasn’t one”.

Castiel looked at Thompson and could read a suspicion his face. It was logical. George Stevens had been scared of something, but he had only kept guns in one room of the house; he hadn’t hunted, he hadn’t shot targets. He must have done something with them, though.

They knew too little about the victim.

“Is there anyone who knew him?” he asked.

Thompson shrugged.

“We’re giving a press conference at ten; I’ll ask the public for information. Do you want to be there?”

Castiel thought quickly. On the one hand, his presence might bring more people forward; a FBI agent was something of a curiosity, and they would be more interested in the case. On the other hand, it might lead people to jump to conclusions, and they couldn’t need that now.

He shook his head.

“I would like to take another look at the house” he said before he knew he was about to. He knew it was the right thing to do, though. He had to do something, and staring at pictures or waiting for someone to show up with information wasn’t enough. Normally he was a patient man. Now, however...

“If you want” Thompson said, and Castiel heard a slight annoyance in his tone. He thought the agent believed they had overlooked something.

“I need something to do” he answered, making sure to say it lightly. He had no desire to aggravate Thompson. It would make working the case difficult.

A small smile appeared on his face, and Castiel knew he had been right. At least he had reacted correctly. There was no tension between them as Thompson showed him to a car. Castiel waved away his apologies that no one could drive him, since every officer they had was talking to the neighbours or working through the evidence, hoping there was a trace yet to be found. He was confident he could find the house on his own.

He did so without any troubles, showed the police man who was guarding it his ID and was admitted to the premises.

Once he was in the living room, looking at the spot where the body had lain not so long before, he didn’t know what to do.

Normally, he would be here with a team; they would go through the evidence, talk at the press conferences – although he never talked there, preferring Balthazar or others to do so – and work their way towards the perpetrator. Now, he was alone, and he stood in an empty house.

It was empty. Not only because of the stillness of death that was haunting the rooms, now that the forensics had left; but because it had already been before someone had killed George Stevens.

There was nothing here but books and guns and one picture of someone who had long ago passed away. And now, not even that. The evidence had been stored, had been taken away, and all Castiel could feel was the loneliness that must have been George Stevens’ companion for a long time.

He wasn’t like this. He should stop thinking like this. He didn’t romanticize the cases or victims, he didn’t get involved.

But with this case, he couldn’t help it and it scared him.

He thought of his own house, of his books, the fact that he didn’t really keep any pictures and that he spent most of his free time alone and he swallowed before shaking his head. Comparing himself and the victim would bring nothing.

He had never felt lonely. He liked being alone. Really, why had he thought that George Stevens had been lonely? Maybe he preferred to be alone too. But this picture on the bedside table... He bit his lip. His sister had died twenty years ago. Many people would have put the picture away. George Stevens hadn’t.

He walked into the office and looked at the books. Why that many books about mythology? The crime novel in the bedroom had been the only one he’d seen. All the others had to do with lore and ghosts and religion.

He simply didn’t understand George Stevens, and he had to. If he understood the victim, he could understand why he had become a victim. He could find the killer.

He was startled from his thoughts by a noise. In the next moment, he wondered if he had imagined it, but then he heard it again.

Someone was moving upstairs. Gently and carefully, but Castiel had heard.

Should he call the man who was guarding the house? The intruder could be gone when they returned. And the noise had been so small, barely there at all. He might be wrong.

But there was something in his blood that told him that he wasn’t. Someone was in the house.

He was glad that Balthazar had made him promise to always wear a gun when he was working. At the time he had considered it unnecessary since he was almost always surrounded by colleagues who wore guns, but now the weight of the weapon in his hand was a relief.

He moved up the stairs, careful not to make any form of sound; he didn’t quite succeed and winced at every creak. The house had belonged to Stevens’ parents, he remembered; it was old. No wonder the stairs creaked.

He didn’t hear anything else from but his movements might cover it.

He stole through the rooms until only the bedroom was left, and he opened the door. His heart beat wildly in his chest.

There was no one there, and there was no evidence that there had been. And would someone have succeeded in sneaking past the guard? It was unlikely.

Castiel rubbed his eyes. This was leading nowhere. He was standing in an empty house, devoid of anything that could tell him what had happened. He looked at his watch and realized to his surprise that he had been in the house for over an hour. The press conference would start soon. Hopefully it would help them.

He walked back downstairs and into the living room, staring at the blood stain. It was a hot day, and the air was heavy with the scent of the blood.

He left.

He greeted the guard and drove away.

He still couldn’t shake the feeling that someone had been in the house. It was ridiculous, of course. Where could they have gone? And what could they have been looking for? Whatever the killer wanted he could have taken with him after he had committed the crime. He didn’t have to return. And there was nothing in the bedroom. The guns were long gone.

Castiel shook himself. There had been no one. His overactive imagination had made him believe that someone else was in the house. That was all.

He came back in time for the press conference, but still didn’t want to join, so he slowly walked to the forensic department. As he had hoped, Rachel was there; it was always easier to discuss a case with someone one had already met instead of having to introduce himself.

They went to get coffee in the cafeteria. As she sat down opposite him, her shoulders slumped and he found himself wondering if she had worked the night through.

“There’s nothing” she told him frustrated. “The house is clean. Spotless. No way of telling us how he got in. That there was even someone else in the house”.

He nodded and she began asking him about Quantico. It was obvious that she needed a break, and he was happy to oblige. After three quarters of an hour – the press conference had already ended – he said goodbye and returned to Thompson’s office.

The DI looked up from his desk, something like optimism in his eyes.

“A witness called. She said she knew Stevens”.

It was more than what they had had so far.  



	3. Chapter 3

Castiel liked Missouri Moseley. She had a no-nonsense attitude and answered questions clearly without saying too much.

DI Thompson had asked him to join the interrogation, and he had gladly accepted. He preferred to listen to witnesses himself, looking into their eyes instead of watching a recording.

He let the other man ask the questions, contend to just observe for now.

She had looked at him with interest when he had been introduced but was now concentrating on Thompson as she told her story.

“I knew George Stevens. Knew him for years.”

“His neighbours didn’t” the DI said, “Even though he’d lived in the house all his life”.

Missouri shrugged.

“Some died, some moved away. It was never a popular part of town to begin with. I don’t think a neighbour from the times of his parents was left”.

“How long did you know him?”

“Over ten years” she answered immediately, and Castiel was surprised. People had to think about how long they had known someone before answering, even if they had known they would be questioned. She, however, was sure. She wasn’t nervous either.

“How would you describe your relationship?”

It was a routine question, but always worth putting before a witness. Missouri obviously wasn’t impressed. She looked at the DI, not giving away anything.

“We were friends” she said at least, decidedly, maybe a bit too decidedly. “We saw each other now and then.”

“Do you know of anyone who would want to hurt him?”

And now, something strange happened.

Not for Thompson, not for anyone who might later watch the tape, but for Castiel. Because even though she barely spared him a glance, he had the feeling that from this moment on, the witness talked to him.

“No”.

There was hesitation there, Castiel knew it. How he knew he didn’t know. The answer had come quickly. And yet...

“Can you think of a motive?”

“No”.

Again this strange feeling, this she-didn’t-hesitate-but-she-did and Castiel would have shaken his head if he hadn’t remembered that he sat in the interrogation room and it would look strange.

“He was a good man” Missouri said and for the first time, Castiel saw grief.

“He was a good man” she repeated. “He had a few problems, of course. Everyone does”.

Thompson straightened his spine.

“Problems? What kind?”

“Nothing specific”.

The DI deflated before her eyes, and Castiel would have found it comical if he hadn’t been wondering what Missouri had meant with Stevens’ “problems”. She had meant something; he was sure she hadn’t said a word she hadn’t meant.

“He didn’t work. How did he live?”

“He did a few odd jobs now and then.”

“That’s hardly enough to explain how he came by” Thompson all but snapped, and Castiel opened his mouth to try and break the tension when the DI sank back further into his chair and rubbed his eyes. He had never seen anything like this in his town, and he had barely slept. Castiel looked at their witness and was relieved to find understanding in her eyes.

In fact, it was a little strange. She seemed to understand their frustration, as if she knew they didn’t have evidence or clues.

“I don’t know how” she said simply. She shot Castiel a shrewd look and added, “For some things there is no easy explanation”.

The agent was sure that she was trying to tell him something. But why she couldn’t do so in front of Thompson, or give them the information to begin with, he couldn’t say. He wondered if he should ask her, but had the feeling that she would deny knowing anything.

“Did he tell you about his sister?” he asked, and this time he knew what Missouri wanted to tell him when she looked at him.

She was impressed.

“He spoke about her sometimes” she replied, and it was obvious to Castiel that she was choosing her words carefully.

“She meant a lot to him, and the way she died – “

She stopped, and there was something challenging in her manner. Thompson didn’t realize and said, “It must have been difficult to hear that she was killed by a bear”.

Missouri nodded and remarked, “That’s what people say”.

Castiel bit his lip. Again, he wanted to ask her if she wanted to tell him something. There was something strange about the middle-aged, black woman, something he couldn’t put his finger on.

Why was she hinting at him without saying anything that could help them? Maybe she wasn’t hinting at all. Maybe he was grasping at straws because this case had got under his skin like no case before.

He watched Thompson end the interrogation, the DI acting polite and obviously trying to make her forget his outburst, Missouri smiling and shaking their hands before leaving.

She held his hand a little bit longer than she had Thompson’s. Perhaps it was just his imagination.

DI Thompson went back to his office; Castiel followed him without having been invited, feeling that he should.

The other man let himself fall into his chair and sighed.

“That didn’t help”.

“George Stevens seems to have been a very private person” Castiel said.

“That won’t help us catch his killer”. Thompson paused for a moment. “Did you think there was something off about her?”

Castiel did, but he didn’t want to influence the DI.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know”. Thompson looked down at his desk.

“Forget it. I’m seeing clues where they aren’t any. It’s just... this case...”

Castiel nodded and didn’t miss the DI’s surprised stare. Of course he would assume Castiel was used to such things. Because he was. And yet he had spent an almost sleepless night and was wondering about a woman who knew nothing.

“Every case is different” he replied, and to his relief Thompson accepted the explanation.

“We’ve got nothing” he said bitterly. “I don’t think forensic’s gonna bring us anything now. How can someone make such a mess in the living room and not leave a trace?”

Castiel didn’t answer. The silence was enough to convey his thoughts.

The next three days were difficult. Castiel had nothing to do, Henricksen was already calling him and expecting him back once the week was over, they had no evidence, no clues, and Missouri stayed the only witness who had presented herself.

He got the report about the investigation in Melissa Stevens’ death and realized that it was useless. She had been killed by a bear. The bear had never been found, but that didn’t mean any foul play had been involved. Even if Missouri seemed to have her doubts.

The report on George Stevens’ weapons stated that some were loaded with rock salt and silver bullets, making the whole thing more and more incomprehensible. Why would someone create such bullets if he could simply buy ordinary ones? It didn’t make sense.

The autopsy report brought them no new information – it had been obvious that the injuries had been inflicted with a sharp-bladed weapon – except for one detail that made it clear how brutal the killer was: that George Stevens had been held down and eviscerated while he was still alive. They couldn’t tell how he had been kept from moving. He had been strong and fit, and he hadn’t put up a fight. There were no drugs in his system. Castiel spent an afternoon pouring over the report, hoping to detect something, anything that would help him clear the mystery, but he came up empty.

Soon he would return home. And he had nothing.

* * *

 

Another house, another town. The same assignment.

He smiled as he took in the protections. A little better than the last time, but still no problem.

It was a hot night again. He cherished the night against his skin, the skin he hadn’t had in so long. When he had been told that he would return, he hadn’t believed it at first. He was lucky that he had been chosen. It was an honour to do what he was doing, to serve the one true master.

He smiled and searched for an open window.

It didn’t take long to find it.

* * *

 

In the early morning, Castiel found himself knocking on Missouri Moseley’s door. He had gone through files, looking for similar cases; he had gone over the pictures again and again; he had once more been to the house without producing any result. He had drunk more coffee than usual, and that was saying something.

He hadn’t even known that he would drive to Missouri Moseley’s house instead of the police department when he left the hotel. And now here he stood.

She smiled and nodded when she opened the door, but she didn’t look surprised. She offered him coffee. He gladly accepted.

“Are you getting anywhere?” she asked, and in the mood he had been in since she had left the interrogation room he only said, “I am not at liberty to discuss the investigation”.

She shot him a sharp glance that clearly spoke of her not tolerating this behaviour in her own house, and Castiel took a deep breath and looked down on her kitchen table.

He didn’t even know what time of day it was. This case had made him do things he normally never did, snapping at crime scene techs, standing in empty houses, and when he looked at his watch, he realized it was seven in the morning and that he ought to be more than glad that she was even up.

“I expected you” she said matter-of-factly.

“I suspected as much” he replied in the same tone, because he knew it to be true. There had been something hanging in the air during her interrogation, and it had been meant for him.

He waited.

“You are different” she said. “It’s good. You’ll have to be.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t tell you”.

Castiel stood up, furious. He was aware that he was only using her answer to vent his frustration, but he didn’t care. If she didn’t want to tell him, he might as well leave.

Her hand on his arm stopped him.

“I didn’t mean to make you angry” she said brusquely, “but you are not ready. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you”.

“Then why are you telling me that there is something I should know?”

She looked at him, and there was something in her eyes he couldn’t read.

“Because you will be. Eventually. And you will have to look past everything.”

He didn’t know why, but he finished his coffee and bid her a polite goodbye.

His visit had brought him nothing, he reflected in the car. It wasn’t sure she even knew something. Maybe she was simply strange and thought she did, one of the many people who always showed up during an investigation.

But she seemed so sincere –

His phone ringing startled him out of his thoughts. He checked, saw that it was Balthazar and stopped the car.

“Haven’t heard from you in a while” his colleague greeted him.

“It’s been three days”.

“Yes, and Henricksen gets angrier ever day. I don’t think you give him the reports he expected.”

That was true. Castiel kept telling him that there was something they had missed, something sure to turn up. He didn’t act like this. Normally, he didn’t. But here he was.

“Tell me honestly: Is there anything to this case?”

The sincerity in Balthazar’s voice shocked him.

“I – “ he broke off because he couldn’t voice his thoughts. Because he didn’t know what his thoughts were exactly. He’d had coffee with a woman who might know something but probably did not. He had stared at pictures until he had almost gone blind. He had researched book titles and read the report on Melissa Stevens’ death.

And yet he was still at the beginning.  

“I don’t know” he said. He should think of this as a murder case like any other, should return, forget about it. But he couldn’t.

“Castiel...”

He was surprised to hear Balthazar use his correct name.

“For everyone, there is that one case. That one case. And I just want you to know – I’m here. Do what you have to do.”

“Thank you” he said sincerely.

Balthazar chuckled.

“Or does this have to do with someone you met? Is there a pretty someone running around, investigating the case?”

He would never tell him, but he was thankful for his attempts to make light of the conversation. Balthazar was his friend, he realized, was well and truly his friend, and he decided to appreciate the fact more once he was back at Quantico.

They said their goodbyes and Castiel returned to the police headquarters.

There was a buzzing in the atmosphere. He knew what it meant. He could feel his spine straighten, his strides becoming more purposeful as he moved to Thompson’s office.

The DI was waiting for him.

“The Chief of Denver just called” he said. “They have another one.”

“Are they sure?” Castiel asked.

“Eviscerated, rest of the house spotless. It’s a couple this time. And there are pentagrams and an arsenal in the house”.

He paused. “We made news in the past few days, and they called me immediately. I mentioned that you were here, and they think you should take a look”.

Castiel nodded and excused himself to call his boss.

Henricksen wasn’t pleased, but he agreed that he should check it out.

“Call me immediately. If this is a case, they crossed state lines. Denver or Lawrence PD can fill out the forms and I’ll send you a few men”.

He debated whether or not to call Balthazar, then decided to do so. He felt certain, without having seen the crime scene, that this was the same killer. He shouldn’t jump to conclusions, but he couldn’t help it.

He would give Balthazar a fair warning. He would certainly be on the team; Henricksen knew how well they worked together.

“So your instinct was right?”

He ignored the glee in his friend’s voice. He was obviously being extremely happy with Castiel finally admitting to himself that feelings and instinct could be useful.

“You might come soon” he said. “I think it best if we stay here, where everything began.”

“No problem. I’ll be down as soon as I get the ok.”

Castiel hung up with a smile on his face. For all his faults, Balthazar was a good friend and agent.

Connors drove him back to the airport, looking excited. Castiel could understand him – it was his first serial killer, and despite knowing that he shouldn’t be, he had to be anticipating the chase. Everyone did, the first time around.

“When will you be back?” he asked, trying not to let his enthusiasm show. He failed, but Castiel didn’t tell him. Why not allow him to be excited before he realized what this was really about, violent death and grief and hatred.

“I am not sure. I have to look through all the evidence. If it points to the possibility that the same killer struck in Denver, I will have a few agents come here to help us”.

He almost said “me” and immediately felt ashamed because of it. This wasn’t his case alone. The police were doing all they could.

This time, the flight took a little less than one and a half hour. The plane that had brought him to Lawrence had returned to Quantico and he had to use a commercial flight, but there were enough that he didn’t have to wait long.

During the flight, he pondered the similarities between the cases. Not only the method, but the victims – a couple and a single male who had the same strange things in their homes. Did they know each other? And if they did, what did it mean? If the pentagrams and the weapons were indeed similar, it seemed likely that it was this that had attracted the killer. But why? George Stevens had harmed no one...

He was theorizing without having seen the crime scene again. He had to stop. Balthazar might believe in instinct and feeling, Castiel didn’t.

He closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep. He didn’t know when he would allow himself the luxury of rest again, and he hadn’t slept well since he had entered George Stevens’ house.

He managed to fall into an uneasy sleep, strange pictures flashing before his mind’s eye and leaving as quickly as they had come. He woke up with the feeling that he hadn’t rested at all and stumbled towards the exit.

Another young officer, a woman this time who introduced herself as PC Hailes, drove him to the crime scene. Denver was a bigger town than Lawrence, considerably so, and people were standing outside the crime scene tapes, leering at the house. Hailes slipped him in without causing a sensation; if it had become known that a FBI agent was here, attention would have been drawn to the case, more than there was already. Until now, the press hadn’t connected the two crimes, but it was only a matter of time. Castiel getting in unnoticed, however, gave them a head start. Not a big one, but still.

The DI, Brackenridge, young and eager, looked less shaken than Thompson, but he was at the beginning of the investigation and didn’t know what Castiel did, that they would find precious little clues. He seemed to believe that this being the second crime gave them an advantage.

“Keith and Tracy McCall” he explained as he led Castiel into the house. “Both twenty-seven. Neighbours say they were nice, regularly gave parties, were popular. No reason anyone should do – this”.

His slight pause before the word “this” told Castiel that he hadn’t seen a crime scene like this before, and he wondered how long he had been a DI. He looked a few years younger than the agent himself. Maybe this was his first big case. No wonder he was hesitant and optimistic at the same time.

“I was told there were certain... surprising elements” he said carefully.

“Yes. That’s what’s weird. Really, I wouldn’t have called otherwise – I mean, the murder is freaky, but the guns and the things painted on the floors and ceilings, and the weapons – all seems like the memo Lawrence PD gave out. Think it’s a serial killer?”

“I am not sure” he answered diplomatically as he changed into the plastic suit, his trench coat kept safe by a forensic tech. The material clung to his skin. It was even hotter here than in Lawrence, and Castiel, who rarely felt heat, was beginning to sweat.

He quickly moved and found the bodies where he had known he would, in the living room.

They were lying side by side, their organs in a circle around them. Both of them were naked. Castiel knew this had been the same man who had killed George Stevens. The few details they had given at the press conference wouldn’t have enabled anyone to copy it so perfectly. Apart from there being two victims instead of one, it was the same crime scene.

“Is there a symbol under the carpet?” Castiel asked.

Brackenridge nodded, his eyes widening. “It’s a pentagram. In a circle. Part of the circle has been cleaned away, though”.

Castiel made a mental note of asking the forensics in Lawrence if that had been the case in George Stevens’ house.  

He let Brackenridge lead him through the other rooms. He found just what he had expected, and it was difficult to fight the sense of déjà vu as he explained to him what Enochian was and what the books in a small room that had served as a library were about.

In a room next to the bedroom there was s cupboard full of weapons. And bottles of water.

What was it about the water? Why had the victims kept water? They had no need too. They could draw more than enough from the taps. The water in the bottles had been analysed; there was nothing extraordinary about it.

Everything in this home was just like it had been in George Stevens’.

No. That wasn’t right.

There was one important difference.

As the statement of the neighbours had shown, the McCalls had been popular; they had pictures of their friends, relatives and wedding in almost every room. There were books besides those on lore, there were decorations, mostly copies of famous paintings, everything had a lived-in feel to it.

The house wasn’t empty like the first victim’s had been.

They might have shared their preference for pentagrams and weapons – and salt, Castiel realized, looking at the windowsills – but in every other respect they had been the polar opposite of one another.

Normally, in cases like these, the killers had a preferred type. Both the McCalls and Stevens had had strange items at their homes, but how had he known? On the outside, they had been different. On the outside, no one had suspected.

Had he been to their house before?

The DI and Castiel went back downstairs and he stood in the living room again, looking at the bodies.

A feeling he had never known before came over him.

Hatred was not part of his job. Hatred obscured thoughts, made one chase blindly after the murderer; Castiel had always been careful to not let feelings get in the way.

But he hated whoever had done this. The feeling was shocking in its intensity, and he couldn’t understand.

The killings were brutal, but he had seen worse, the victims had been younger. Why was he standing here, thinking of what he would like to do to the one responsible?

“Is it true that – he does this to them when they are...”

Brackenridge was standing next to him, disgust and pity on his face.

Castiel nodded.

It was no use to point out that they had to wait for the reports to be sure.

Castiel was sure, and he was angry that he was, he was angry that he hated the killer and that it was messing with his thoughts.

He went through the house again, determined that he would think logically and go through every drawer.

He found nothing. The McCalls seemed like a normal couple. And they had an arsenal in a room.

According to Brackenridge, their friends and relatives had been shocked to hear what they kept in their house. Castiel assumed they had hidden the pentagrams when anyone came to visit them.

“What did they do?” he asked. The DI shrugged his shoulders. “Both freelancers. She a writer, he a journalist. They weren’t doing too badly.”

There was something they and Stevens had in common then. Even if it was barely so.

They had had a lot of free time. Stevens hadn’t worked at all, and the McCalls could decide for themselves how much they worked.

What had they been doing in their free time? It must have to do with the symbols and weapons. But Castiel couldn’t imagine what activity would require those.

Why the water? Why the lore?

“Maybe it’s a cult” Brackenridge suggested. Castiel thought about it, but decided it was unlikely that they wouldn’t know about a cult that spawned over several states and whose members kept guns in their homes.

It might be, however, that the victims were members of a specific group. Not a cult, but maybe something like survivalists.

If so, they would have to work out what group. There were likely more than three members, and there might be more murders.

He told Brackenridge what he thought. The young DI agreed with him and went to make a few phone calls.

Before he did that, he told Castiel that he would fill out the forms needed.

The agent called Henricksen.

He was glad to hear that Balthazar would come; for the time being, the two of them should work together and send evidence and reports to Quantico. He was secretly relieved that he didn’t have to deal with a task force. He wasn’t comfortable around too many people, especially when he was the leader.

They decided that Balthazar would come to Lawrence; they would work the case from there, where everything had begun.

He hung up with an overwhelming sense of relief.

At least he wasn’t trying to make sense of this alone anymore.    

 


	4. Chapter 4

The next few days were frustrating. Castiel returned to Lawrence, Brackenridge promising that he would send any information he could get. He seemed happy that someone else would help him on the case.

Castiel had stayed two days in Denver without making any progress, and when he arrived, he was exhausted.

Instead of Connors, Balthazar awaited him at the airport.

He frowned.

“You look like hell”.

“I can’t help what I look like” Castiel snapped and saw that his friend was taken aback at his outburst. It was untypical for him. He rarely raised his voice, no matter how difficult the case.

He brought his hand up to his face and rubbed it over his eyes.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to – “

“That’s it. I’m taking you back to the hotel”.

“It’s barely three pm –“ Castiel tried to protest, but Balthazar shook his head.

“No. You are exhausted. Did you even sleep? I’m taking you to the hotel, and that’s it.”

Castiel would have liked to refuse, but he couldn’t. He hadn’t slept since he had left Lawrence, if he didn’t count dozing fitfully in a motel bed that wasn’t as comfortable as the one he’d left in Kansas, and he could feel the tiredness seeping through his bones.

Therefore he didn’t argue and simply followed Balthazar to his car.

He fell asleep as soon as he sat down, the heavy, dreamless sleep of exhaustion, and was surprised when Balthazar shook him to tell him they were there.

“Really, what would you do without me, Cassie?” he asked as he pulled him towards the entrance of the hotel. By the time they walked into the reception hall, Castiel had found his bearings and smiled politely at the receptionist. He even made it to his room without leaning on his friend, who escorted him anyway because, as he explained, he didn’t trust him not to return to the PD if he didn’t.

He didn’t feel as tired as he had before his nap in the car, and he decided to only lie down for a few minutes. He set his alarm to go off in half an hour and put his trench coat away.

He didn’t expect to immediately drift off into a deep sleep again, so deep that when his alarm rang, he only extended his arm and shut it off. He didn’t even realize what he was doing while he did it.

Therefore he awoke hours later, just in time to get a quick dinner at the restaurant.

He sighed as he made his way downstairs. He had wanted to talk about the case with Balthazar. They had talked on the few several times of course, but it would be different to go over the evidence together.

And it wouldn’t help their search for the killer that he had wasted a whole afternoon.

Balthazar was still sitting in the restaurant and beamed when he saw him.

“I was just about to assemble a search party. Did you rest well?”

Castiel resisted once more the urge to roll his eyes and sat down opposite him.

“You could have called”.

Balthazar looked up from the remains of his dessert just as a waiter came and asked Castiel what he wanted. He ordered a simple main course; the man who was obviously tired and wished to close up as soon as possible. He happily sauntered off and his friend said, “I was worried.” His eyes were staring straight into Castiel’s, waiting for a reaction, perhaps an explanation that he could not give.

It was such an unexpected response that Castiel didn’t answer, enabling Balthazar to continue. “How many cases have we worked together? I have never seen you like this – you looked like a ghost when you got out of the plane. And you never fall asleep on me, no matter how tiring the day was, and now you barely stayed conscious long enough to get in the car”.

Castiel didn’t say anything because he felt the truth of his statements. This case was making him do things – forgetting to eat and sleep, when he was always careful to keep a schedule, getting annoyed at the forensic experts because they didn’t get results, almost screaming at a young officer because she didn’t get his coffee order right – no other case ever had.

If he was honest with himself, he was worried too.

He looked down at the table cloth and began picking at a lose thread. He was aware he was avoiding Balthazar’s eyes, and that the other agent must be aware of it too. It didn’t help.

“This case – “

“The case isn’t everything. You can’t run yourself ragged over it. You never do that; I know you make sure to sleep at least four hours in a day and get a snack every twelve hours”.

Castiel’s head snapped up. He hadn’t realized his friend knew his schedule so well. At any other time, it would have made him glad. Not many people knew him well. But now, he felt strangely irritated that he would be considered so predictable.

A moment later he realized what he had thought and wondered if he was going insane.

“Henricksen noticed it too” Balthazar continued, “he told me to take the burden of your shoulders. He never told me that before.”

“There is no reason to – “

“There is every reason” Balthazar said.

Just as Castiel was about to explain that no one should worry about him, while he knew that the opposite was true, his food arrived and he politely thanked the waiter and asked if he could pay immediately.

The man looked relieved. Castiel was searching his wallet when he heard Balthazar take out his, and he raised his head to find him paying and giving the man a generous tip.

“What?” he asked when Castiel shot him a wondering look, “It’s all on the cost of the Bureau anyway”.

Castiel couldn’t think of anything to say to that. Perhaps this was a mistake, because Balthazar began again to ask him about the case.

“It’s gruesome. But we’ve had worse. Why, Cassie? I don’t get it”.

“Me neither” he replied tiredly, picking at his food. He didn’t really have an appetite.

Balthazar noticed, of course, and glared at him. “You are going to eat. When was the last time you had a bite anyway?”

Castiel quickly thought. “About two pm – “

“In the plane?”

“Yesterday” he admitted, looking down at his plate again.

“Castiel, this isn’t you”.

Balthazar so rarely used his first name instead of the demeaning nickname that he had been prepared to think he’d forgotten what it was.

“I know” he said helplessly, “I know. It’s just – something – “

He couldn’t explain. From the moment he had seen George Stevens’ house, this case had captured him, demanded his attention, made him neglect himself. And he couldn’t explain.

“Promise me something” Balthazar interrupted him, still in this unusual sincere voice that Castiel barely recognized as his. “Don’t ruin yourself over it. There’s a chance that we won’t find the guy. Don’t get obsessed. Please, Cassie – take care of yourself. Or at least let me look after you”.

He couldn’t reply. His throat felt closed off and he took another bite, forcing it down as he felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. It was stupid. He was an idiot. This was just a case. He had to work it like any other.

Everyone knew stories about agents who had become obsessed with cases. It never ended well. Divorce, insanity – if they got lucky, a lonely old age staring at files. Castiel used to wonder how they could have let it come this far.

He was starting to understand. And it scared him.

“Okay, here’s the deal” Balthazar said, sitting back and returning to the persona Castiel knew so well. “You’re going to eat and we’re going to make small talk, and then we’re going to have a drink at the bar and perhaps will speak about the case, but not so much. And then you’re going to get more rest. You still look pale”.

He always looked pale, but this was hardly the time to point it out, so he simply nodded gratefully.

He managed to clear his plate, and had to admit that it didn’t taste bad. Balthazar meanwhile sipped his water and gave him an update on office gossip, which he had never been interested in, but was thankful for. He could let it flow by and allow himself to relax while he was cutting the meat.

Castiel wasn’t sure whether or not he wanted a drink afterwards, but Balthazar dragged him into the bar just as the waiter was beginning to clear the room.

“I don’t think we’ll get reimbursed for that” he said.

Balthazar shrugged. “Watch me”. He grinned. “It’s all just a matter of how to clarify what you consume”.

Castiel wanted to tell him what he thought about this original way of thinking about money they were supposed to use to find criminals when Balthazar turned around and asked the bartender, a friendly elderly black man, for the most expensive Scotch he had.

“I told you: Watch me” he said when he saw Castiel’s reproachful look.

He was too tired to argue, and the Scotch was good.

“So” Balthazar began, like he would about any other case, the only sign that he knew it to be different a slight hesitation in his manner as he continued, “We have nothing. The victims were cut open alive. We don’t know how he made them hold still. We don’t know how he got in. There are no traces of him. They had guns and water and books on folklore. According to the reports, the guns were loaded with silver bullets and rock salt; if they weren’t loaded with normal ammunition, that is. And there were – I forgot to tell you. The pentagram underneath the carpet? There was a part missing too. Someone had scratched away the paint, just a little of it. Just enough to make a hole in the circle.”

“Almost like trying to make it useless” Castiel mumbled, watching his Scotch swirl inside the glass.

“What?”

“They’re protective symbols. If there’s something missing...”

“If you believe in this stuff.”

“The victims did” he reminded him. Balthazar nodded.

“Do you think the killer did too?” he asked.

Castiel sighed. “I don’t know. But it certainly seems ritualistic.”

“Yes, but what kind of ritual...” Balthazar trailed off. “And what club where the victims in? They have too much in common and at the same time too little. They weren’t in contact. We checked.”

“No friends, no – “

“Nothing, Cassie, I tell you”.

Castiel looked at the bottles that lined the wall but didn’t really see them as he went over the details of the case.

“I talked to Missouri Moseley” Balthazar added. “I figured I would look at everything. She was very polite, but I believe she’s a bit – special, don’t you think?”

“She gave us her statement voluntarily” Castiel replied, “She and George Stevens were friends.”

“Yes, it’s just – well, an instinct. There’s more to her than meets the eye”.

Balthazar paused, obviously waiting for one of Castiel’s sermons against instinct, but he said nothing.

The other man looked confused as he continued, “Went over his sister’s death too.”

“There’s nothing there”.

“Aside from the fact there was no bear sighting in decades in the area before she died. And none after.”

Castiel looked at him. He hadn’t thought of checking if there had been any bears in the area before Melissa Stevens’ death. It showed once more that he had been letting the case get to him: Normally he was more meticulous. He had checked if there had been any sighting off the bear after the attack, had even called an expert who had reassured him that it wasn’t unusual that it had never been found. He could have moved on, been hunted down or had an accident. There were many possible scenarios.

“They never found the bear” he said, “that doesn’t mean – “

“No one ever saw the bear. There is no evidence it was a bear. Apparently it was the logical conclusion, so they called it bear.”

“But what else – “

“Exactly.”

Castiel took a sip. It could be a dead end. Melissa Stevens had died twenty years ago. But her brother had still kept her picture on his bedside table.

She had been important to him. She could help him understand the victim. And understanding the victim might help him to understand the killer.       

“I will go back to the house” he said. “There might be something about his sister’s death there”.

It was a flimsy excuse, but he wanted to see it again. Needed to see it again. He didn’t know why. He hadn’t felt that way about the McCall’s house.

“I need you to go over the evidence” he said when Balthazar shot him a glance. The McCall evidence hadn’t yet been fully processed and would arrive in the course of the next day.

His friend sighed and emptied his glass.

“I will. But you will go there first thing tomorrow morning. Not now. Promise?”

Castiel did. Balthazar deserved it.

That didn’t prevent him from interpreting “tomorrow morning” in any way he chose fit to, however, and so, when he woke up before sunrise and knew he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep, he left the hotel and went to the house.

There was no PC in front of the crime scene, not anymore. The press attention had died down (but would undoubtedly start all over again when they realized the murderer was a serial killer, in which case they would have to put a guard before it again) and all the evidence had either been processed or taken away.

What exactly Castiel wanted to find, he didn’t know. He only knew that Balthazar had told him something, that there was something strange in George Stevens’ life, that he might understand him better if he found out what had happened to his sister.

It wasn’t logical, but he was desperate enough.

He took a flashlight out of the car, reluctant to turn on the light in the house for reasons he couldn’t name, and opened the door. He’d held the key, one of the keys, for a few days now.

He stood in the living room and looked at the spot the body had been. Where could he have kept information on his sister, if he had had any at all?

He’d check the office first.

The books were slowly starting to accumulate dust, and it made Castiel strangely sad. As the light wandered over the shelves, he noticed one with a cricked back. It had evidently been read more often than others.

He took it out and he quickly looked at the title.

_Legends of the Tribes._

It didn’t tell him much, but the book opened on a page, and he decided to take a look.

A newspaper article was clipped to a page.

_Melissa Stevens, 20, victim of a bear attack_

_Melissa Stevens, whose mortal remains were found three days ago, was the victim of a bear attack, the Chief of Police revealed today at a press conference._

_“It was a tragic and unexpected attack” he said, “But these things do happen. We are trying to find the bear. Our sympathy goes to the victim’s family.”_

It was like any other article Castiel had read about similar subjects, and he concentrated on the photograph that was printed under the headline.

It wasn’t the same picture that Stevens had kept in his bedroom, but looked like it had been taken around the same age. Castiel wondered if it had been her brother who had taken it, not knowing why he suddenly found it important to know. The paper was old and it seemed to have been handled often. It was almost transparent. Melissa’s face, however, was still visible, as visible as the one on the picture, forever young. Whenever he had taken the article in his hands, he must have been careful not to touch the picture. He didn’t want it to fade. He didn’t want to spoil it, even if it was just a picture on a page of a newspaper.

Castiel was once more struck by the devotion it took to carry a memory for twenty years. Memories faded. But George Stevens had held on to that of his sister.

They must have been close. They had still been living together when it had happened, and he had probably hated himself for letting her walk out of the front door.

His thoughts returned to Gabriel for the second time in a week. He hadn’t thought about him for months until this happened. He couldn’t even say when they had last talked – two years ago, perhaps. His brother had called to let him know he was still alive. They hadn’t spoken long. There hadn’t been anything to say. They had forgotten what it was like to be brothers. It was difficult to remember a time when it had been different, when they had been young.

Why did he find himself wondering if Gabriel still had the same number, Castiel wondered. Why had it come to this?

Here he was, standing in an empty house, staring at an article, thinking about his brother. He really should concentrate.

He looked at the book instead of the article and found something interesting. Whether or not it was helpful, he wasn’t certain.

On the page opposite of the one the article was clipped to there was an entry about a creature, a legend of the Algonquian peoples.

_Wendigo. Meaning: “Evil that devours”. According to the legend, a man who eats human flesh becomes a monster that continues to haunt the world, looking for meat among those whose kinship he left behind. He knows no mercy. Forever being tormented by the knowledge of what he has lost, he hates humanity for that very fact, and will readily devour anyone who comes into his path._

There was a picture of a monster under it, obviously a Wendigo. It had a human form, but dark eyes, and looked big and powerful.

Near the end of the page someone, presumably Stevens, had written two words.

_Fire. Silver._

Castiel frowned. What did this mean? A Wendigo – a creature who ate human flesh. An article about the investigation in Melissa Stevens’ death.

Why would George Stevens put these two together?

Unless he had believed that a Wendigo had killed his sister. Impossible as it was, it would explain the sigils and weapons. If he had been convinced he was hunting a monster – and there had been silver bullets –

But if this was the case – why did the McCalls own similar items? There had been no report of a tragedy in their past. They came from happy families. None of their acquaintances had reported them to be in any way interested in folklore, and yet they had assembled a collection very similar to Stevens’. Books and weapons and sigils. Silver bullets and water.

Castiel felt that he was almost there – that the answer lay in front of him, but outside his grasp. It was very frustrating, and he tried to connect the dots. But it seemed that there weren’t any connections. As he thought about it, he leaved through the book, read more about creatures, myths, sentences that barely caught his eye. Steve had written on other pages as well.

_A bamboo dagger blessed by a Shinto priest._

_A stick carved by Virgins, dipped into lamb blood._

_Silver bullet in the heart._

_Brass._

Why would he write down these words?

Why would anyone want to?

Why would anyone paint pentagrams on his floor?

Why these victims? Their hobbies had been strange, but they hadn’t hurt anyone. No one had even known about it.

And they were dead.

The McCalls, a young happy couple.

Stevens, who had been lonely and believed that a monster had killed his sister.

They had nothing in common. Nothing if you looked from the outside, at least. And they had had no common friends either.

The killer must have known them both. But he had left no evidence in their lives.

Someone who had known them. Maybe had even been welcomed by them. Had subdued them without using drugs, without punching them unconscious. And then he had decorated the room with their remains. What kind of man could do something like that and walk calmly out of the house? Disappear and not draw any attention?

He noticed he was clenching the book and looked back down at it.

Castiel huffed. It was useless, utterly useless, to read about George Stevens’ sister and a Wendigo.

He was hunting a killer. He didn’t have time to read stories.

Yet he put the book in a plastic bag he’d taken with him, just in case. He could at least show it to Balthazar.

He felt compelled to check upstairs once more, and decided to give in to the impulse. He had already wasted his time by coming here – no, not entirely wasted. He knew what Stevens had thought about his sister’s death, and it might just explain the strange items in his house. Nothing spoke against looking upstairs again.

The stairs creaked slightly, and he was reminded of sneaking up to see if anyone was there.

There had been a noise; he was sure of it. Thinking back now though – had there really been a noise? Had he simply been nervous? No one had been in the house. There were no places to hide. He should have found whoever had got in.

It seemed so ridiculous now. The rest and the dinner had done him good. Balthazar was right; this wasn’t like him. He felt calm wash through him. He was one of the best agents the Bureau had ever had, and he would live up to his reputation. He took a few deep breaths, feeling lighter.

This was what his father had raised him for. He had always been meant to be an agent, and he excelled at it. One case wouldn’t change that.

Maybe it was strange to relax in a house where a murder had taken place a few days before, especially if he only used a flashlight to see where he was going, but he didn’t mind. For the first time since he had entered the crime scene, he felt like he could think clearly again.

He would work this case like any other, then return to the Bureau and his office. He would even allow Balthazar to drag him out one night, as a thank you for what he had done for him so far.

He immediately went into the bedroom, the room where Stevens had kept the picture of his dead sister, the room he must have thought about her the most, sitting on the bed, looking at the bedside table...

He was contemplating what he must have thought while looking at it, letting his gaze sweep over the room once more, turning with his flashlight. Why he did it, he had no idea; it was an automatic gesture, born out of the desire to always see what was behind him.

The last time he had looked over everything, after he had entered, the room had been empty. The guns had been cleared from the cupboard, the picture was lying in the evidence locker; it had been as empty as any room whose inhabitant had left for ever.

This had been two minutes ago.

This time, the light fell on a man standing in front of the door.

He seemed just as surprised as Castiel, and even as the agent was reaching for the gun and realized he had left it at the hotel and for once broken his promise to Balthazar (another one, he thought darkly) he spoke.

“Awesome. A witness. Now what am I going to do with you?”


	5. Chapter 5

He must have got lost in his head. The man must have sneaked up behind him while he had been contemplating George Stevens and his sister. He had allowed a suspect to trap him. And he didn’t have his gun.

Castiel slowly moved his hand. If he could reach his phone...

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you”.

The man no longer sounded surprised, but cocky. He was smirking at him.

Castiel unexpectedly felt angry.

The man was taller than him, but not much. He wasn’t armed, at least he could see no gun in his hand or bulge in a pocket that would show he was carrying a weapon.

Castiel could take him. He could fight, he had studied Martial Arts.

“I wouldn’t” the man said. His thoughts must have been written on his face, Castiel realized. He couldn’t allow him to anticipate what he was planning to do.

“You are under arrest” he said. “I’m a FBI agent.”

The man laughed.

“Really? You’re going to arrest me?”

“You walked into a crime scene and called me a “witness”” Castiel pointed out before he could stop himself. He took out the handcuffs and moved towards him.

The man looked at him. Castiel registered a mix of pity and regret in his eyes before he found himself unable to move.    

Utterly unable to move. He stood there, the handcuffs in his right hand, trying to make a sound, but it felt like he had been turned to stone.

“I’m not saying I don’t understand you. Once – man, once I would have ganked my own ass. But I’ve got things to do, and it would be better for all if we went our separate ways. Oh, and keep this to yourself. No one would believe you anyway.”

He would never be able to say if he had imagined it or not, but the man’s eyes turned black, and then there was a pain in his head and he lost consciousness.

* * *

 

He hadn’t had so much fun in a long time. At least in none he cared to remember. What was important was who he had become, not who he had been. And it was time to have even more fun.

Another guy, this time. He was rather said. He had enjoyed the couple. If only not so many of them lived alone...

He would have to do.

Plus, he lived in an apartment, so that was new.

He quickly checked the protections and soon knew they weren’t a problem.      

He had a little less time at his disposal – the sun would rise soon – but he intended to make the most of it.

* * *

 

When he came to, his phone was ringing and the sun was shining through the windows.

He picked up.

“Where are you? You went to the house, didn’t you?”

Balthazar sounded annoyed, and Castiel really didn’t need this right now.

He had to tell him that they should sent a team and go over the house again because a suspect had knocked him unconscious, and opened his mouth to say so.

Nothing came out.

Were it the words of the man? “No one would believe you”.

No one would. Castiel had been unable to move. He had been stopped by something. He had felt its presence.

It was impossible.

And yet it had happened. The plastic bag with the book lay next to him, the handcuffs on his other side. His head hurt.

“Cassie?”

He cleared his throat.

“Sorry, Balthazar, I was – I found something about George Stevens’ sister”.

“I’ll be right over”.

“No need” he said quickly. “I’m done. I’ll meet you at the station”.

“Alright” Balthazar answered, obviously suspicious, but he simply hung up, and Castiel breathed a sigh of relief as he stood up.

His head didn’t hurt that bad, he wasn’t dizzy. He didn’t have a concussion, then.

He walked out of the house, going through his memories, and tried to understand what had taken place.  

Had the man he had seen been the killer? His first words pointed in that direction – but he hadn’t harmed him, even though he could have done so. Castiel hadn’t been able to move, and he was certain that the man had been responsible. Was that what he had done to the victims? Why hadn’t he killed Castiel too, then? And how had he done it? He hadn’t come close enough to hit him, not until he had been standing there, trying to move. Maybe some form of suggestion or hypnosis, but it was unlikely.

He didn’t understand.

And what about –

He remembered the man’s black eyes. They had turned black, completely black, right before he had blacked out. But had they really – no, it didn’t seem possible.

He sat down in the car and drove to the police department.

Balthazar was waiting for him.

He didn’t have to say anything. He simply raised an eyebrow.

Castiel put the bag in his hands and said, “He was obviously convinced that his sister had been killed by something other than a bear. I’m going for coffee”.

He left before Balthazar could respond. He got coffee from the machine near autopsy. It was cheap and strong, and he didn’t care for taste, not after what had happened.

He went into the room that had been assigned to them and sat down. He hesitated for a moment before taking a piece of paper and a pen.

If he believed that what he had seen had been real – and the slowly receding pain in his head told him so – he had to write down what he remembered about the man. And he had to tell the others. It had been stupid not to do so. He could be anywhere by now.

Slowly, methodically, he wrote down everything he could remember, from their conversation to a description of the suspect.

He had been taller than Castiel, so over six feet.

Age: Early thirties.

Brown hair, green eyes. Castiel hesitated a moment before writing down the colour, then, angry at himself, pressed the pen down so hard that he almost ripped the paper. Green. The man’s eyes had been green. Very strikingly so, in fact. He had probably thought them black after he had received the hit on the head.

He’d worn jeans, a t-shirt that might have been grey, a plaid shirt and a jacket over it.

Castiel brought the pen up to his lips. What else? He had been cocky; he hadn’t seemed threatening.

And that was it. The agent hadn’t been scared. At least he hadn’t been fearful to lose his life. If this had been the killer, why should he feel so at ease? Then again, he shouldn’t give too much about feelings. He had often found serial killers to be polite, and it wouldn’t be a surprise if this one was very well-spoken in his ordinary life.

Castiel sighed. He had let the killer slip through his grasp, or at the very least a suspect. He would have to talk to Balthazar. They had to make a plan.

But when his friend entered a few minutes later, he put the list away and didn’t say anything.

The rest of the day dragged by, and he didn’t know why he didn’t tell anyone. Someone had attacked him at the crime scene. They should know. He kept it to himself and he couldn’t understand why. He wasn’t afraid that nobody would believe him. He wasn’t. And yet the attacker’s words kept taunting him. He had no proof of what happened, and everyone knew he had been on edge. He could have fallen down and hit his head. He had dreamed the whole thing, they would say, had run himself ragged until he had begun to hallucinate. He might be taken off the case.

“What I don’t understand is why” Balthazar said, and Castiel forced himself to listen.

He made a motion with his head, telling him to continue.

“Why would he come to believe that his sister had been killed by a Wendigo?”

“Maybe it was a way of talking the blame of himself.”

“She was killed by a bear. He can’t have thought it was his fault.”

“Maybe he did. Maybe he sat on his bed, looked at her picture and wondered if there was a word, a plea he could have used when she left the house to make her stay.” Castiel stopped and realized he had voiced his own thoughts after Gabriel had left. Before he had slowly forgotten what having a brother meant. He continued quickly.

“Thinking a supernatural creature did it might have helped him.”

“I’m not sure about “helped”. He lived alone, had no friends. He kept unregistered guns and painted pentagrams on his walls. I don’t think he was living healthy, Cassie”.

There could be no mistaking the look his friend gave him before adding, “Obsessions can be dangerous.”

He fought down the irritation he felt; he didn’t want to be angry at him. It wasn’t an obsession, but he could understand why it might look like one. It wasn’t. He was interested in the case. That was all.

Castiel didn’t know how to reply. Everything he said would simply be interpreted in a different way. He wouldn’t convince Balthazar that he wasn’t obsessed with the case.

He didn’t have to answer because Thompson opened the door. And just like the last time, Castiel knew what had happened.

“Enid” he said. He didn’t have to say more.

“Oklahoma?” Balthazar asked. “There is no pattern I can see”.

“Me neither” Castiel sighed as he stood up.

Enid didn’t have an airport, so they had to drive. It would take them over three hours.

Balthazar sat down behind the wheel despite Castiel’s protests.

“Get some sleep. You have been up since dawn. Rest”.

Castiel didn’t think he would be able to sleep, which was why it shouldn’t have surprised him that he only woke up when Balthazar pulled up to the house.

He wanted to apologize, but his friend only got out of the car.

The DI, a woman in her early forties named Hillers, greeted them and showed them the flat.

There wasn’t much to see. The victim had been called Martin Patterns, he had been living alone. The flat was clean except for the living room, where the body of the victim lay. Books of mythology, pentagrams on the floor, salt on the windowsills. An arsenal in a room.

It was all becoming so repetitive that Castiel had to force himself to go through the apartment.

What was going on? One minute Balthazar told him he was obsessed, the next he was barely interested in the crime scene.

He was lying to himself. He knew what was going on. He had taken the piece of paper that he hadn’t shown his friend with him and could feel it burning a hole in his pocket. The man he had seen.

The man would come to this flat. Castiel was sure. He didn’t know why, but he was sure. The man had been at Stevens’ house, had returned to the scene of the crime if he was the killer, and he would do so again.

He should have told Balthazar. He should have alerted the police. Instead, he spent the rest of the night and the next day hearing what he had already heard, seeing what he had already seen and convinced that the man would return tonight.

Castiel would be waiting for him.

He made his way out of the hotel soon after sundown, having told Balthazar that he would go to bed early. His friend had been very relieved at the idea, and Castiel felt ashamed as he started the car.

His gun was in his pocket, he had his handcuffs, he had his phone.

What he was doing was absolutely insane. He shouldn’t confront a suspect on his own.

And yet he was doing it.

This went against everything he had learned, against everything his father had taught him.

He stopped the car a street away from the house.

He would have to break in if he wanted to wait undisturbed. If the PC who was guarding the house saw him go in and not leave, he would call for backup. Balthazar would come, and his plan –

What was his plan? Again, he realized that what he was doing was stupid. Yet somehow it seemed the only right thing to do.

It was disgustingly easy to break into the apartment. The building itself didn’t even have a security camera, and there was only one PC standing in front of the door. Castiel only had to pull down the fire alarm for the man to come running while he hid in a corner next to the elevator.

He had the keys. He had asked DI Patterns for them the moment the forensics were done, and she hadn’t demanded a reason, had simply handed them over.

He shut the door behind him just as he heard the first neighbours asking questions. The PC would be busy for a while. He would surely find a way out once the night was over.

He didn’t turn on the lights. He sat down on the sofa and took out his gun, ready to shoot if necessary. He put his flashlight next to him. Castiel knew that he might wait for a long time.

He was right. The hours ticked by, every minute seemingly slower. He waited patiently. He felt no tiredness, no hunger, only the certainty that the man would come.

Someone did.

But it wasn’t the man.

Castiel heard someone moving in the bedroom. He couldn’t explain how they had got past him – had they climbed up the facade? Had he dozed off? It didn’t matter, though. He grabbed his gun tighter and took his flashlight in his left hand.

He moved as swiftly and silently as he could; he registered that the man seemed to be far more unconcerned about being heard than he had been at Stevens’ house. Briefly, before he opened the door, the thought that what he was doing was insane and that he should call Balthazar flashed through his mind, but he ignored it. He had chosen this course of action and he would go through with it.    

He contemplated opening the door slowly, but it was better to surprise the suspect. Give him no time to do whatever he had done before to make him unable to move.

Castiel turned on the flashlight and threw the door open in one quick motion, calling out “Federal Agents!”

What he saw, though, surprised him and not the man who was standing in front of him.

It wasn’t the suspect he had met before. This one was shorter, about his height, had blonde hair, brown eyes and grinned at him.

Castiel was knocked back by something – he couldn’t see what it was – and landed on the room of the living room floor, where the body had lain, with a heavy thud. In the next moment, the man stood over him, still grinning.

“And they say business isn’t pleasure” he said, pulling out a knife. Castiel tried to stand up, to scream, but he couldn’t. A force was holding him down, just like the force who had kept him from arresting the other man. He could only watch as the knife came closer.

A strange calm came over him. He could do nothing. This must have been what the victims saw, he reflected. Really, it was his own fault. He shouldn’t have gone alone.

If only he could move enough to scratch the man, leave Balthazar and the forensics some evidence...

The knife came closer and closer, the man obviously taking pleasure in seeing the fear in his eyes. Because of course he was afraid. The fear of death was human; everyone was scared of oblivion.

Castiel couldn’t have closed his eyes if he had wanted to, and he wasn’t sure he did. In a way, he decided, it was interesting. He knew the pain was coming, but the thought was detached, it didn’t matter. It was good to have seen the killer before he died. He would be the last thing he ever saw.

Just as he registered that the knife would pierce his skin any moment, the man was thrown across the room. Apparently, it was the same thing that had caused Castiel to fall down, and he was confused – what was going on?

He could move again, he realized, as he automatically tried to stand up and found that he could. He looked for his gun, but it was in a corner; he didn’t know if he could reach it in time.

The man jumped up and glowered at something behind Castiel. Only now did he register that someone else must be in the room, and he turned around to find the suspect from the other night looking at his attacker, his face clearly showing the disgust he felt.

“He sent his pet minion, didn’t he?” the killer sneered and rushed forward; at the same time, Castiel was pushed towards the corner the gun lay, but he didn’t feel threatened. In fact, it felt like a friendly, if forceful shove, used to get him out of the way, and he quickly grabbed his gun and stood in the corner, his back to the wall.

The two other occupants of the room didn’t pay attention to him.

The green-eyed man must have stopped the blonde somehow; they were standing opposite one another, about three metres between them, both staring at the other, as if waiting for him to make a move.      

Castiel wanted to raise his gun, but a look from the man who had just saved his life told him not to.

“I am kind of disappointed” the blonde began, “I thought you were this almighty – “

He stopped when the other man took a knife out of his pocket. It didn’t look different from other knives, at least not in a way Castiel could spot from the distance. And yet the one who had attacked him started to tremble and back away.

“You can’t – where did you – “

“I’m full of surprises” he said, advancing towards him.

The blonde looked around, then stared at him accusingly.

“No – you can’t keep me from leaving, that’s impossible!”

“I’m good at impossible” he answered and raised the knife.

It was then that the blonde remembered Castiel and suddenly he was being propelled towards his attacker, unable to do anything about it.

The man caught him in a headlock.

“Really?” the green-eyes suspect asked. “You do know what we are, right?”

“Yeah” he said smugly, pressing down on Castiel’s windpipe. He was struggling but could feel his consciousness ebbing away.

“But I also know who you were”.

“Then” he replied evenly “you should know that I know how to hit the mark.”

Castiel wasn’t sure what happened next, but he though the knife flew past him, missed his ear by barely an inch, and buried itself into the man’s eye.

He heard a scream and saw lights dance across the walls.

The pressure on his windpipe was gone, but it didn’t matter. Castiel blacked out.

When he woke up, he was lying on a bed. At first, he believed that he had dreamed the whole thing, but then he opened his eyes and found himself in a motel room, not the nice hotel he had been staying in since they had arrived in Enid.

“You’re awake.”

He turned his head to find the green-eyed man sitting in front of a table, a bottle of whiskey before him.

He nodded. Unsure of how to proceed, he looked around the room, but there was nothing that could tell him where he was or who had just saved him.

“Would’ve thought a FBI agent would be a bit more concerned about the guy he just saw stab another man to death” his saviour said, “but then, you don’t look like an agent. The trench coat – you look like a tax accountant”.

Castiel unconsciously grabbed a fistful of the coat he’d worn for years. The man smirked.

“Who are you?” the agent demanded, standing up. He reached for his gun, more out of habit than because he thought it would be there, and was surprised to find it where it belonged. 

“I’m the one who saved your ass” he replied, and when Castiel pointed his weapon at him he sighed. 

“Do you really think this is gonna work?”

His eyes turned black. Until now, Castiel had believed that he had imagined it; there was no way someone’s eyes could turn black.

But this was looking at him with black eyes, smiling at his discomfort.

“Would you put that down? Not that it would hurt me, but the atmosphere would be more relaxed.”

Castiel didn’t realize he had let his weapon sink until he put the safety on.

“That’s better”. The man took a swig out of the bottle and held it out to Castiel.

He shook his head.

“More for me, then”. He took another swig.

“What exactly where you doing there, anyway? What kind of FBI guy doesn’t bring back up? Were you on some weird ego trip? Hoping to catch the bad guy and be a hero?”

Castiel, once he had got past the fact that the one he was talking to had black eyes, got angry. What right did this – thing have to question his abilities as an agent?

“I am one of the best” he said, enunciating every word.

“Really? Then what were you doing alone at a crime scene?”

“I was looking for you”.

That seemed to surprise the – whatever Castiel was talking to. His eyes were still black, and Castiel was less scared than he should have been.

Maybe it had something to do with everything inexplicable that had happened to him.

“Looking for me? I stopped you with crazy Jedi-powers and knocked you out, and you went looking for me?”

“Of course. You are a suspect.”

“I was. You met Billy. The real killer. Remember, the one I killed for you?”

Castiel only stared at him.

“Look, man, you have to think logically. I ain’t the killer.”

“You might not be Martin Patterns’ killer” Castiel pointed out, “but you could still have killed the others”.

The black-eyed man opened his mouth, then closed it again and tilted his head. Castiel had the strange impression that he was looking up, but couldn’t be sure.

“Fair enough. I’m not, though.”

“And I’ll just take your word for it” the agent answered sarcastically.

For the first time, the man looked angry. He stood up and advanced towards him.

“You could be a little grateful, you know. I could have left you to die.”

That was true. He could have killed him at George Stevens’ house, or simply let him at the killer’s – Billy’s – mercy. He hadn’t.

“Who was he?”

“Who was who?”

Castiel resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He surely should feel something other than exasperation, but he couldn’t.

“Billy. The killer.”

Unexpectedly, all the anger left the thing’s face; it threw his head back and laughed.

“That’s good. I’ll have to remember that one”. It wiped its eyes.

“It wouldn’t do you any good to know.”

“I have to – “

“Agent Novak, this is not your kind of case”.

It – he – Castiel kept switching between the two because he couldn’t yet comprehend that something so human-like could have black eyes – was obviously mocking the strict tone of a superior officer, but the agent was too busy wondering how it knew his name to notice. In the next moment, he realized that it had gone through his pockets, of course. He brought his hand up to his ID and found it in place.

“What kind of name is Castiel, by the way?”

He was neither ready nor interested to share the story of his name with this monster and instead asked, “Who are you?”

He hoped that the creature would not answer him with another question or mock him again, and it didn’t.

It looked at him with its black eyes and said, “You can call me Dean. Dean Winchester.”


	6. Chapter 6

"What are you, Dean Winchester?" He was surprised at how calm he was. He had just been thrown around by some unknown force, and now he was talking to a man with black eyes. Castiel had to admit that one got used to them after a while, though.

"What makes you think I am not human?" the man asked, his eyes wide, before he theatrically waved a hand and changed them back to green.

Castiel didn't answer.

"Well, aren't you just a cheerful guy to hang out with. So you really wanna know?"

He nodded.

The man looked at his bottle, and for a moment Castiel thought he saw regret flash over his face before he looked up and answered, matter-of-factly, "I am a demon".

"A demon".

Castiel stared at him. Without the eyes, he looked like a normal man, and he wondered if he hadn't got a concussion after all. Maybe he was hallucinating.

"Yes. There are demons. And before you ask, there are ghosts too, and monsters, and angels, although I've never seen one of those."

Castiel went to the table and sat down.

Angels. Monsters. What was going on?

"And Billy – "

"He was a demon too. Not in his own body, of course. He was possessing some poor bastard".

"Possessing?"

Castiel had read many books on mythology, as well as many horror novels, a fact he usually kept for himself. But he knew what possession meant.

He pushed his chair away from the table.

"You killed him".

"Better than having a demon ride him" Dean answered carelessly.

"And you – " Castiel looked at the man before him and wondered who he was. If he had a family that was looking for him.

He bit his lip as he once more felt anger beginning to rise in him.

Dean raised his hand.

"Don't go all righteous on me. I'm a special case. That's my body."

Castiel blinked and let his eyes roam over the plaid-wearing demon in front of him.

"Yours?"

"It pays off to have friends in high places. Or, in this case, low ones."

"But if you are not corporeal, you – "

Dean huffed impatiently.

"Billy just tried to kill you, you found out that the supernatural exists, and you want to discuss demons and their bodies? I think we have bigger issues at hand."

"Excuse me if I need more information to process that demons exist!" Castiel replied hotly. For some reason, the demon made him furious when he should have been scared.

Dean smirked. "I'd gladly give you all the information you need" and something about the way he said it made Castiel push his seat back even further, "But we haven't got the time. Someone is killing hunters".

"Hunters – you mean the victims? But you killed Billy, didn't you?"

Castiel realized something and he quickly stood up.

"The body – "

"Took care of it."

The agent cleared his throat.

"You killed Billy. So the killer is gone – "

"It's not that easy".

Castiel was surprised that he had thought it was.

But before the man – demon – could say anything else, he decided to take control. He was working the case, and Dean had just killed a suspect and claimed it wasn't over.

"What is going on?"

He pronounced it clearly, like he always talked to suspects in the interrogation.

Dean wasn't impressed. If anything, he looked slightly amused. But he answered.

"Someone is killing hunters."

"I gathered that. What do you mean, hunters? George Stevens didn't work. The McCalls were a writer and a journalist. Martin Patterns was – "

Dean shook his head.

"The McCalls did some freelancing on the side, and Patterns always did it more as a hobby than anything else". Was it Castiel's imagination or was there contempt in his voice when he spoke about Patterns?

"But they were all hunters. You admit that I am a demon?"

It was a strange question, but a justified one. He hadn't changed his eyes back to black, and despite everything that had happened in the last few house, Castiel found it difficult to believe that demons existed.

He had hesitated too long. Dean's eyes became black again and he found himself unable to move.

Dean chuckled, and then, as if sensing his fear, let the black fade once more while releasing him.

"Don't look like that. I was just having a little fun. So, me demon. Right?"

"Right" he replied slowly.

"And, as before stated, there are ghosts and monsters. So we have all these supernatural creatures running around, and humans who fight them."

"And they are called hunters" he guessed. Dean nodded.

"And someone has been killing them" Castiel continued. "So I am assuming the books and the weapons and the pentagrams – "

"Sigils. Meant to protect them. They can be broken, though, and obviously that happened. Salt burns demons and ghosts too, so that's why there was rock salt in the bullets and salt on the windowsills. Same goes for silver".

"And the water?" he asked.

"Holy water. Blessed by a rosary."

Castiel shook his head. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. A few hours ago, he had been trying to catch a serial killer – certainly not normal, but understandable. Serial killers were real.

Demons weren't. Neither were ghosts or monsters or –

"Hey".

Dean's voice had assumed a threatening tone that caused Castiel to stand up. He wouldn't be attacked sitting down.

Dean had jumped up too, and there was something feral in his expression. His black eyes stared straight into Castiel's.

They stood there, simply looking at each other, and Castiel was ready to defend himself. Dean hardly seemed the same person he had spoken too only a minute before. It seemed much more probable that there were monsters in this world, if a man could look at him like this; like he was ready to rip him into pieces.

Instead of launching towards him, Dean simply snarled, "I just saved your ass. How about you stop doubting me?"

"You should be aware that most people wouldn't consider demons trustworthy" Castiel answered calmly. "And you could just have left me there".

It was clear that these demons weren't exactly like the ones the bible described; but still, he doubted they made a habit of rescuing federal agents who were investigating a case.

The whole fight seemed to go out of Dean. He looked embarrassed, and Castiel stared. Had he really just caused a demon to reach for his bottle and take a deep pull to compose himself?

"You're working the case" he grumbled. "Might as well see what you've got".

"So you're working the case too?"

"Why else would I be there?"

"Except for being the killer?"

"Touché. But I'm not. Billy, remember".

"You said yourself that it wasn't over" Castiel pointed out and Dean sighed.

"You must be good at this. Only pains-in-the-ass are good at this kind of job".

"So that is why you are investigating" Castiel deadpanned.

Dean laughed – an actual cheerful laugh that surprised him. "You do have a sense of humour. Who would've thought".

"Why are you investigating?" Castiel wasn't about to allow this demon to lead this conversation.

"Because I want to find out who kills them" Dean said matter-of-factly, "to be more precise, who's behind it".

"Demons – "

He rolled his black eyes.

"They don't just go around killing people."

"They don't?"

"Well, okay, most do, but these are targeting hunters – "

"Who are hunting them".

"I am trying to explain here, could you shut your cakehole for one minute?"

Castiel closed his mouth and tried not to look offended. It was stupid anyway. Why should he feel offended by something a demon said? If anything, he should be glad that Dean had happened to show up when he did.

"As I was busy explaining, they didn't just gut these hunters because they felt like it. Don't get me wrong, they certainly felt like it, but they were told to kill them."

"By whom?" Castiel prompted when he didn't continue.

"That's what I'm trying to find out".

"You don't know?" Castiel asked, incredulous. If what Dean said was true, and Billy had been the killer – one of them – then he had killed their best lead.

"You don't know and you stabbed the one who could tell you to death?"

"Should I've allowed him to kill you? In case you didn't notice, he wasn't exactly human-friendly".

His indignation had a profound if confusing effect. Except for the black eyes, he looked and sounded just as human as anyone Castiel knew, and more than some.

"No, no he wasn't." Another second passed before he added, "Thank you".

He had until now failed to thank him, and it took Dean aback. He cleared his throat, and his eyes changed to green once more.

"Don't mention it. Billy's gone, so we have to find someone else."

"Was he responsible for all the murders?"

"Yes." Dean thought for a moment. "He liked to brag. It was just about finding him and getting him to talk".

Which he couldn't know and suddenly Castiel felt guilty. Utterly irrational, of course, but he couldn't help it.

"That reminds me" Dean said, "they didn't open the boxes in George Stevens' house, did they? Or anything else suspicious that they stumbled upon anywhere?"

Castiel told him that some of them wouldn't open, no matter what they tried. Dean smiled.

"Why?" the agent asked.

"Powerful curses could be unleashed" Dean replied lightly before he looked down at the table and started mumbling to himself.

It took Castiel a few moments to realize he was talking about the case, obviously thinking things through. He used the time to look at his watch.

It was after nine am.

"How long – "

He took out his phone. Twelve missed calls and thirteen messages, all of them from Balthazar.

"Did you turn my phone on silent?"

"It kept ringing" Dean said simply. "It was annoying."

Balthazar probably was looking for him all over town. Castiel put his phone back in his pocket.

"I have to go."

Dean frowned.

"Why?"

"Because I have to do my job".

It brought him another eye-roll from the demon.

"You found out who's killing them – well, was – and now you're discussing the case. In case you haven't noticed, you are doing your job".

"That's not the way it's done."

Dean stared at him.

"What do you mean, "Not the way it's done"?"

Castiel huffed. "There are procedures, forms that must be filled, protocols that must be followed – "

"So you are telling me you always do these things? Even if there's a killer out there?"

"Especially if there's a killer out there" Castiel answered indignantly. "The Bureau can't afford to let him loose again because someone didn't follow procedure."

Dean looked like he wanted to say something sarcastic, but then he seemed to think of something and instead smiled smugly.

"And coming to a crime scene in the middle of the night, alone? That was correct procedure?"

Castiel blushed against his will. It hadn't been. For the first time since he had worked for the Bureau, he had done something stupid, something that went against every rule he had ever been taught, and it had led him to be saved by a demon.

"It was a mistake on my part" he admitted.

"You think?"

Castiel sighed. This was going nowhere.

"What are your plans?" he asked.

"Find out who's behind the killings" the demon said, clearly only to annoy him.

"I know. But how?"

"Since our only informant is gone, I'll have to find something else."

Obviously, he didn't know what kind of something he was looking for, but Castiel didn't point it out.

If Dean found something, it might be possible that they –

They? Was he thinking about working with the demon? He had saved his life, but he _was_ a demon.

"I really should go" he said, surprised at his own reluctance.

A thought occurred to him and he couldn't believe that it hadn't crossed his mind before. While he was not prone to profanity, he almost cursed before he continued, "Unless – "

Dean stared at him with green eyes, something like disappointment on his face. It made Castiel look away.

"Do you really think I'd save you and then kidnap you? Why would I do that?"

"How should I know? You're the demon. Apparently you "feel like killing people", if I remember correctly" Castiel challenged him, using the air quotes Balthazar had often mocked him about. "I can't say what you would want with me."

Dean jumped up so abruptly that the chair fell down.

His eyes changed to black, and he clenched his fists, having let go of the bottle.

With a few strides, he was in front of the agent, and within the next second, he had backed him against the wall.

Castiel stared up into the dark pits that were his eyes and forced himself not to flinch. Stupid. He had been stupid. This was a demon; had he really expected him to behave like a human? To be friendly? Had he really just discussed the case with him?

"Don't compare to those sons of bitches" Dean growled. "I am _nothing_ like them. I'm – "

He didn't continue. He stopped, and an emotion Castiel couldn't identify crossed his face. He shook his head and took a few steps back, looking at him.

He turned around and walked to the table, taking the bottle.

"Your time is precious. Don't wanna keep you" he said sarcastically, and Castiel quickly went to the door. He didn't know where he was, but he didn't want to ask the demon.

The demon who hadn't harmed him when he had the chance. The demon who had saved him. The demon who had been angry because he had assumed he was just like the others.

Castiel stopped in front of the door. Again, there was this strange reluctance to leave.

He opened the door. He had no reason to stay. If what Dean said was true, he could do nothing. The demons had powers he couldn't fight against. If Dean was lying, and it was possible, he had to find the murderer.

He turned around before leaving.

"Thank you."

"You already said that" was the gruff response.

"I know, I –" Castiel swallowed. Why was he still here?

He should be out the door. He should call Balthazar.

"I wanted you to know that I meant it" he said firmly. "Thank you".

Dean, who had been sitting with his back to the door, turned around. As his eyes roamed over Castiel's face, the darkness disappeared and left behind their normal colour.

He nodded.

Castiel's eyes lingered on the demon longer than necessary. When he realized he was staring, he turned around quickly and, calling out a short goodbye, to which Dean didn't react, he all but ran from the room.

He found himself in a motel, and made his way to the reception. The receptionist was staring at him in a way that told him it wouldn't be wise to ask her for directions.

He pulled out his phone as soon as he was in the parking lot and googled the street name he could read on a dirty sight on the other side of the road.

He wasn't far away from the PD, and he decided to walk. He needed to clear his head.

It was promising to be a hotter day than any other they had had yet, and even Castiel began to sweat in his trench coat.

The more the distance between him and the motel grew, the more unbelievable everything seemed. Had he really talked to a demon? Demons didn't exist. It hadn't been a demon that had killed this people; it had been a man.

And it just might have been Dean.

What if the whole thing had been a hoax? He didn't even know for sure that Billy was dead. He had lost consciousness as soon as he had let go.

There had to be an explanation why Dean's eyes had turned green and black and green again. Surely, there was something that could produce this effect.

The close Castiel got to the PD, the surer he was that he was an idiot.

The supernatural? Demons? Monsters? Hunters?

He didn't even know why he had believed Dean. And yet he had. He had listened to the green-eyed man, had trusted him as his deep voice told him all about –

Castiel shook himself. He would talk to Balthazar; the police would put a BOLO out on Dean. He would have to talk to Henricksen, too. After what he had done, he wouldn't be surprised if his boss told him he was off the case. He'd deserve it.

He hadn't considered what he looked like, but the looks that were shot his way when he entered the station told him enough. He quickly ducked into the toilet and washed his hands and face before searching for Balthazar.

He was in the small room they had been assigned, talking to someone on the phone.

"He wouldn't. I know he hasn't been himself, but – "

The agent brazed himself for the questions that were sure to come and entere.d

Balthazar saw Castiel and his eyes widened.

"He's here. He's fine. Thanks, Thomas".

He'd been talking to Thomas Ceens, the Bureau's best IT man, Castiel realized.

Balthazar hung up and stared at him.

"I don't want to sound like your wife, but. Where. Have. You. Been?"

Castiel opened his mouth. He was going to tell him; about his nightly excursion, the strange man he had met, the story Dean had told him.

He didn't.

He closed his mouth again and shrugged his shoulders.

Balthazar walked up to him and put his hand on his forehead. Castiel resisted the instinct to shove him away.

His friend let his hand drop from his forehead only to grasp his forearms.

"What were you thinking?" he hissed. "You can't just go and do something like this. I managed to keep them in the dark for now, didn't even call Henricksen. But if you had –"

"I know. I'm sorry".

Balthazar's hands left him and he sighed.

"What is going on?"

He mustered Castiel.

"You've always been so dependable. What is happening?"

Castiel _had_ always been dependable, and he had always taken pride in it. He followed the rules. But now, after his talk with Dean, he didn't know if he wanted to be dependable.

And that was crazy in itself, because the one time he had gone against the rules, he had almost got himself killed.

"I don't know" he answered. "I don't know".

The words came out flat, and he winced at the obvious lie. Because while he didn't know exactly what was going on, he had an idea, and Balthazar knew it too.

His friend sat down, breathing heavily.

"Castiel" he said firmly. "This can't go on. I should call Henricksen, tell him to pull you off the case – "

"No". He was surprised at the pleading tone in his voice, and so was Balthazar. Castiel rarely asked for anything, if it wasn't help during an investigation.

He didn't have any right to ask Balthazar not to report to their boss. He had been gone for hours, and he had lied to him. He was fairly certain that his colleague was aware he had lied to him and hadn't called him out on it. He deserved honesty. He deserved that Castiel told him that he was in fact at the end of his wits, that he should take himself off the case, that Balthazar should work with someone else, someone who hadn't seen demons and didn't feel like this case was more important than anything else.

Castiel swallowed and continued to plead.

"Please, Balthazar. It's important that I stay on the case. I can't tell you why – it just – it is" he said, feeling how inadequate this was. Balthazar had only called Thomas, most likely to track his phone, when he could have told the police and contacted Henricksen, and he couldn't even give him an explanation.

His friend looked up. Their eyes met.

Balthazar brought his hands up to his face and massaged his temples.

"If I say no and you return to Quantico, you're still going to work this case, aren't you?" he asked softly, and Castiel, unable to lie anymore, nodded when Balthazar raised his head.

"Fine. I won't say anything. But – if you're in over your head, or if you run into any trouble, you tell me."

"I will" Castiel promised, and his heart sank when he realized that he had already run into trouble. And he already knew that he wouldn't tell him anything about Dean. No matter what happened.

Balthazar sighed again.

"Just – stay out of trouble." A few moments passed, then he stood up and smiled. "Who would have thought I'd ever say that to you, Cassie?"

He knew that the moment in which Balthazar demanded explanations had passed as soon as he used his nickname, and he smiled back.

Balthazar wouldn't allow him to stay, telling him that he needed rest, and Castiel didn't argue. He really could do with a few hours of sleep, he thought distractedly – distractedly because he didn't feel tired – and he could do some research. Thankfully, he'd brought his laptop with him.

He immediately logged into the Bureau's database, barely taking the time to lay his trench coat on the chair next to the door.

If there was a Dean Winchester, he had to be born at some point. There had to be some kind of document.

It was only after he'd put in the name that he realized how stupid he was. If Dean was a demon – and how strange it seemed, with the sun shining through the windows and the files, the facts of the case lying on the bed next to him – he would hardly be in the system.

Nonetheless, he looked through the results.

At first, he had looked for any Dean Winchester in the US country records – there were eighteen, but most of them were too old or deceased.

But there was one who was born in 1979. It fit the impression Castiel had had – that the demon he had met couldn't be older than his mid-thirties.

He knew, of course, that it didn't have to mean anything. The demon might simply have assumed the name of the man, or he might be possessing him. Dean had told him that it was his own body, but he had no proof of that.

Still, he looked up all the information he could find.

Dean Winchester, born on January 24, 1979. Parents John Winchester and Mary Winchester. He had lived in Lawrence, Kansas, until he was four. There was a younger brother, Sam. Their mother had died then, from a fire, according to the death certificate, and –

Nothing. His father had packed him up and left. There was nothing else. No address, no documents.

Dean Winchester had disappeared of the face of the earth when he was four years old. Gone and uncared for, until a demon had told Castiel it was his name.

But why would a demon have a human birth certificate? It could only be a coincidence.

Sam Winchester, his brother, had likewise disappeared after the death of his mother. After a period of four years that he'd spent at college, he had fallen off the grid completely.

He couldn't ask his brother then, either.

Castiel sighed and leaned back on the bed, his eyes once more travelling over everything he had found –

It hit him, and he had no idea how he had overlooked it.

Dean Winchester. Born on January 24, 1979 in Lawrence, Kansas.

Lawrence, Kansas.

Where it all began.

It made Dean a more likely suspect, and Castiel was surprised that he felt disappointed. He shoved the feeling aside. It was a lead.

Someone who had been at the crime scene had been born in Lawrence, Kansas.

And Castiel knew someone who had lived there all her life and had given him hints from the moment they met.

He closed the laptop.

He knew where he was going next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to, please leave kudos/feedback. It would mean a lot.


	7. Chapter 7

He stood once more in front of Missouri Moseley's door without really being able to name any reason for it. She had been born in this town, and she lived here still, but that didn't mean that she knew anything about Dean Winchester.

But she was the only lead he had. The brother had disappeared of the face of the earth the same time as Dean and their father. And he remembered his and Missouri's last talk very well.

_You are not ready. You wouldn't believe me if I told you._

_Then why are you telling me that there is something I should know?_

_Because you will be. Eventually. And you will have to look past everything._

What if it had something to do with Dean? What if she knew something?

On the other hand –

What if she didn't? What if Castiel was grasping at straws, desperate to make sense of what he had seen? What if he hadn't seen anything at all, but had been the victim of an elaborate hoax? What if he couldn't trust his own eyes and ears anymore?

Balthazar hadn't made it a secret that he saw no point in Castiel driving back to Lawrence to interview a witness he had already talked to.

"Are you sure?" he asked after Castiel told him, and he was carefully choosing his words, the agent could tell. In all the time they had known each other, he had never done that.

"Yes" he answered.

He left shortly afterwards.

And now here he was. He had driven for over three hours, and he still didn't know what to say. Everything he came up with sounded silly even in his head.

He realized that he wouldn't find the right words, no matter how long he thought about them, and knocked.

Missouri opened almost immediately, and she didn't seem surprised to see him there.

If anything, she looked scared, but he wouldn't remember this impression until later. The words tumbled from his lips the moment he saw her.

"Do you know anything about Dean Winchester?"

This time, he wasn't too preoccupied with what he was going to say to see that what crossed her face was pain. No surprise, no guilt, simply pain.

"The boy – " she began, then stopped herself.

"You better come in".

He followed her, unsure of how he had chosen the right words, or if he had chosen them at all.

She didn't turn around as she walked into her living room. He had only been in the kitchen before. The living room had a homely feel to it, and he felt immediately comfortable.

Until she returned around and he saw the sickly paleness of her cheek.

He moved forward to help her, but she shook her head.

"Sit".

He decided it was better to obey than to make her angry.

"I didn't – " she broke off and looked out of the window. "I was hoping they were wrong. I wasn't sure. I was hoping – "

She closed her mouth and glared at Castiel.

"Why are you here?"

"Because you told me I wasn't ready to hear what you had to say, but I would be eventually" he said simply. "Because I met Dean Winchester and am certain you know something about him. About this whole case".

Her eyes softened and she turned around and left the room without another word. Castiel was wondering if he was supposed to follow her when she returned with a file in her hand.

"Here" she said, her voice trembling slightly, "look".

The file only contained two pictures. In the first, there was a family; two parents who looked young and happy and a boy about four years old who held a baby and grinned proudly at the camera.

"That's the Winchesters" Missouri explained softly. "Before the fire."

"When Mary Winchester died?" Castiel asked, and she nodded.

"I met them a few years ago – the boys. All grown up. Rather handsome, if a bit cocky". A smile passed over her face before she grew serious again. "Look at the next picture".

He did.

He swallowed. He would have recognized that face everywhere.

"That is Dean Winchester".

Missouri sat down beside him on the sofa.

"Yes. He was the older brother. Always looking out for Sam" she pointed at the other man on the picture. He was taller than Dean, and Castiel couldn't help but think that he looked like he could take care of himself.

"And then – "

She didn't finish the sentence. Instead, she asked with the voice of someone who knew it was hopeless to ask, but had to make sure, "You saw Dean?"

"Yes" he confirmed.

"He's a demon?"

"Yes" he said, and sounded surer than he would have thought he was.

"It's true then" she said calmly, but he saw the pity and grief in her eyes.

"What?" he asked. "Help me understand" he added after a moment.

"He was a man" she began, looking at but not seeing a picture on her wall. "A hero, some would say. I know he never saw himself as such. He decided to – " she came to a decision and shook her head. "It's not my story to tell".

"I – " Castiel started to protest, but she shook her head again.

"You just have to know one thing: He became a demon for the best reason."

"Became?"

"I told you he was a man. I'm not at liberty to tell you more. They have been right so far; I have to trust them".

"Who?"

"My sources".

Castiel was confused. "You have sources?"

She nodded.

"I'm a psychic."

A few days ago, Castiel would have thanked her and left, asking himself why people continued to claim that something like mediums existed.

"So you can see the future?"

"Some of it. And it's not clear. The future never is".

"But when you told me – "

"It's complicated" she said. It was clear that she wouldn't tell him more.

He stood up and thanked her.

Quicker than he would have thought her capable of, she jumped up and grabbed his sleeve.

"Remember" she said. "Look past everything".

He could only nod.

"And" she added, "the collection of our library is interesting".

With that, she let go and he left.

He didn't know why he went to the library. She had told him barely anything. Dean Winchester had been human at some point – if the demon was indeed who he said he was. He might be lying. Missouri didn't seem to think so, but why should Castiel believe the demon? It had saved his life. That didn't mean it had been honest.

Plus, it had told him there was at least one more killer out there, and that was one thing Castiel was ready to believe. So it was only logical to consider it a suspect.

Nonetheless, he made his way into the library. He knew what Missouri had meant when he found a section labelled "Occultism". He had never seen one of those in a library before, but there was more to Lawrence, Kansas, than met the eye.

There were several books about demons, and he browsed through a few of them. After a while, he picked several, among them, feeling a bit silly, an old-looking volume that declared itself to be a real Grimoire, and carried them to the hotel.

What he read wasn't reassuring, but it confused him.

Demons were creatures of Hell, incapable of mercy. _But why had Dean saved him?_

They made deals with people and helped them in exchange for their souls. _Dean had helped him without a deal._

They possessed people because they had no bodies and needed them to walk around. _Dean had said it was his body. Why would he lie? There was no need to._

The more he read, the less sense it made. Naturally, Dean possessed some qualities that were attributed to demons – he had been rude at some point, and Castiel was certain he could rip him apart if he wanted to – but he was working on the case, at least that was what he'd told him, and he had saved Castiel. He needed more information. He needed to speak to Dean.

Once he had decided that, he quickly went through the other books.

He didn't expect to find anything in the old, cheap-looking Grimoire but, amongst other things, there was a chapter about summoning.

Summoning a demon.

The thought hadn't even crossed his mind until now. Before he had known that demons existed, he had now and then read about them, like one would read fairy tales, entertaining but not to be taken seriously; this ritual read different than others he had previously encountered, however. In legends, one had to be at the right place at the right time.

According to the book –

He would have to cut himself; he would have to mix herbs.

And, of course, he would have to paint a devil's trap to make sure the demon didn't leave once he had summoned him.

It was ridiculous. Crazy. Insane. Balthazar should have taken him off the case. He should take himself off the case.

Only when he left the hotel with the book under his arm did he realize that he was going to do it – he was going to summon a demon.

It might disprove it, he consoled himself. No, not might; would. Nothing would happen and he would admit to himself that he had believed a crazy man who had told him about demons, he would confess to Balthazar what had happened and they would focus on tracking down the suspect.

He would have thought that it would take more exotic herbs to summon a demon, but the supermarket had everything he needed. The cashier mustered him suspiciously, and he couldn't blame her. He had barely slept, even though he had withdrawn to his room and went to bed at Balthazar's insistence last night, his hair looked as uncombed as ever, and his tie was once more not tied properly.

And naturally he was still wearing his trench coat. Although any warmth he might have taken from it and the weather had dissipated. He was feeling cold from the pure thought of what he was about to do. He was scared of what it would prove – that he was losing his sanity. And yet he had to prove it.

Halfway back to the hotel he realized that he couldn't do the ritual in his room. He wouldn't paint a symbol on the floor. But there was nowhere else he could be sure to remain undisturbed – aside from –

Aside from George Stevens' house. He shouldn't even think about it. The man had died in this house. He would compromise a crime scene, no matter that the forensics had already gone through it.

He thought the painting under the carpet in the living room had looked like a devil's trap. He could make sure it was unbroken, and then –

The body had laid there. No. The dead deserved more respect than that.

It would have to be George Stevens' house, but he decided to go to the bedroom, and he would use paint he could wash away afterwards. It wasn't the safest option, but it felt right. He wouldn't try to put the possible killer in the exact same spot where the victim had been found.

He realized that hours had passed since he had left Missouri and Balthazar hadn't called. His friend was obviously giving him space, and he didn't know if he should ashamed or thankful because of it.

He quickly went to George Stevens' house and unlocked the door with the key he still carried. He didn't look into the living room or the office, but stole up the stairs like a thief.

By the time he had painted the devil's trap on the floor, like it was drawn in the book, with some paint he'd bought at a hardware store a few streets down, he was feeling more stupid than he ever had in his life.

Still, he would try. And then he would know.

Being crazy was better than knowing that there were demons hurting people in the world.

He couldn't help feeling silly as he cut his arm to let his blood mix with the herbs and began chanting in Latin. How had he gotten to this point? Maybe Missouri hadn't meant to tell him to summon a demon; maybe she had meant there was another clue in the library, an actual clue...

He might as well finish now that he had started, though.

He lit a match and set the mix ablaze.

He was so focused on pronouncing the rest of the text correctly that he didn't notice until he heard the voice.

"Son of a bitch!"

He looked up to find Dean Winchester in the devil's trap, eyes black, looking angry.

"Really? You summoned me? I'd have thought you'd have enough of demons."

Castiel didn't know what to say.

"So, what now? Or did you call me to give me the silent treatment? Not exactly what I expected for saving your fucking life."

He swallowed. He hadn't really believed it would work, had thought that he would have to face the fact that he was insane.

He had no idea how to face a demon.

Technically he had already faced him, of course. But knowing what he was, realizing that he had indeed just summoned a demon –

He shook himself. He had question, and the thing that was calling itself Dean Winchester wasn't going anywhere.

It was also obviously growing impatient.

"So what? You trap me and don't have anything to say? At least get me pie or a beer – "

"Who are you?"

It rolled its eyes and all but snarled, "Dean Winchester."

"That's what you told me. Dean Winchester was human."

" _Was_ being the key word, genius."

He took a deep breath.

"I talked to Missouri Moseley".

He didn't know what he had expected. Maybe a sarcastic comeback. But it surely hadn't been the demon growing completely still.

He stopped talking and moving. His eyes turned back to green, and Castiel wasn't sure if he was even breathing. He was obviously shocked, and he looked once more so human that he felt like he could leave the devil's trap any moment.

Then the eyes turned black again and he cleared his throat.

"Witness of yours?"

"She knew George Stevens".

"Figures". Dean – and he noticed more and more how he kept confusing "demon" and "human" and "it" and "he" when it came to this... person – looked down on the floor. "And?"

"She showed me a picture. Two pictures, in fact".

He hoped that the – that Dean, even with his black eyes, he looked so vulnerable at the moment that it was difficult to think him anything different than a man – would be cooperative. He had to know.

"And?"

"One was of your family".

He could have said "Dean Winchester's family" – the words lay on his tongue – but he felt that he wouldn't get anything out of him if he did.

"You have no right to talk about my family".

He sounded vicious, and Castiel couldn't help the impression that he would have attacked him if the devil's trap hadn't held him back.

"The other one was of you and your brother – "

"Don't you _dare_ talk about Sammy – "

Sammy. Sam Winchester. The one who had shown up at university and left before he got accepted into Stanford, never to be seen again.

"Why not? Did you do something to him?" The question was out of his mouth before he could consider what he would say, and he winced. Dean was surely going to get even angrier –

He didn't. If anything, he looked confused and sad.

"Why – I – " He stopped and composed himself, straightening his spine, demon once again.

"What do you want? So Missouri showed you pictures."

"She's fond of you" Castiel said softly because it was true. Behind the words, behind the story she hadn't told there had been sorrow, and a wish for things to be different. Dean Winchester had meant something to Missouri Moseley.

Dean snorted. "She barely tolerated me. When I didn't put my foot on her coffee table. By the way – never do that."

"I'll try to remember that" he answered sarcastically before continuing, "Since she showed me the pictures, I have to assume you were human at some point".

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yes".

"Why aren't you anymore?"

"How do you think people turn into demons?"

"I wouldn't know" Castiel shot back, as aggravated as the last time he had talked to Dean, "I didn't know demons existed until now".

"How do you think?" Dean was clenching and unclenching his fists; it appeared to be an unconscious reaction to Castiel's question, and the agent was silent as he waited for him to continue.

"You know, there is this place called Hell. And when humans go down there – "

"You went to Hell?"

Castiel couldn't say why it shocked him. Maybe because Dean had saved him, even as a demon, and he couldn't imagine that he had been worse as a human than he was now.

"It's a long story" Dean said. "And one I ain't telling".

He wouldn't say anymore on the subject, Castiel knew. He recognized the tone.

It was the one he used on the rare occasions someone asked about Gabriel.

"And this is your body? You are Dean Winchester?"

Castiel held up the book he'd found the summoning ritual in. He had read a particular passage so often in the last few hours that he had it committed to memory.

_To walk among men, they have to take over their bodies. They have to break their spirits, keep them subdued. A human can save himself from demonic possession, although it is difficult, and sigils will keep out demons. If a demon possession has taken place, the demon has to be exorcised._

"This says that – "

"Like I said, I'm a special case".

"But if you went to Hell, you had to die first" Castiel argued. "I assume it takes some time for a human to turn into a demon – "

"Four hundred years" Dean interrupted, and it strangely looked like his eyes became even darker.

"So shouldn't your body be – wait, four hundred years? Why did Missouri have a picture of you then?"

Castiel was confused. If Dean had died four hundred years ago –

"Different time in Hell than on Earth. I spent three years and four months in hell, from your point of view".

Dean was remarkable open with him, if he disregarded his reluctance to talk about his brother, which he could understand all too well.

"Shouldn't your body be – " he was searching for a tactful expression for "decomposed" when Dean interrupted, "rotting and smelling? Yeah. I've got friends in low places – remember? It's not that easy to restore bodies, but it worked. And now I'm my usual handsome self".

Neither of them said anything for a few moments. Dean was the one to break the silence.

"Now that your questions are answered, would you let me loose? Things I have to do".

"Like what? Investigate the case?"

"Obviously".

"It's my case" Castiel replied, and he tried not to think about how this made him sound like a stubborn child.

Dean chuckled.

"You know who committed the murders. Nothing you can do. So I advise you put your sweet ass on a plane and get back to Quantico".

"More people are going to get hurt" Castiel said.

"We'll get all of them, eventually."

"But more people are going to get hurt" he insisted.

"And why should I care?"

"You cared about me" the agent said quietly. He knew it was true. Dean could have left him lying there on the floor of apartment after he had saved his life, but he took him to a motel room and laid him down on the bed.

"I – didn't. Just thought you lying around would lead to awkward questions."

"About demons?"

Dean definitely looked embarrassed now.

"You said you were human once" Castiel began, "and you remember what it's like. You have to. You don't want humans to get hurt."

Eventually, Dean mumbled "So what?" and the agent continued, "I will work on this case. I will search out the demon who did this."

Dean's eyes widened.

"Are you nuts? Why am I even asking? You summoned a demon".

"Therefore you know I won't give up."

"Why?" Dean asked hotly.

"What do you mean, "why"?"

"Most people would run. You have seen a little of what demons can do. Neither Billy nor me are the strongest around. Imagine what some of the others could do – "

"It doesn't matter. It's my job to solve this case".

"You have to be alive to do it."

Dean sighed and shook his head. "Look, you let me out and I get out of your hair and you find yourself a case you can solve. How about that?"

"It's not going to happen" Castiel insisted.

And then, for the first time, he had the feeling that Dean looked at him.

Or, rather, that he _saw_ him.

He had looked at him before, of course, had even seen him unconscious, but he had never considered him an equal, someone worth as a partner. Now, he changed his eyes to green and mustered him up and down. Castiel told himself not to flinch.

Dean frowned. "I think I underestimated you. Take that as a compliment – I don't say that lightly. Doesn't matter, though. It's not your case."

"I'm not going to let you out until you promise me that we'll work this case together".

Dean shot him a look of contempt.

"How old are we? Nine?"

"Promise".

Castiel knew that he had no right to demand anything from the demon. Everything he had read told him that demons were not to be trusted, and even if he hadn't looked for information, he would have owed the demon and not the other way around.

And yet he was demanding a promise from him.

Dean looked angry for a moment before he took a deep breath and said, "Okay. Deal".

He was looking into Castiel's eyes, and again the agent found it easy to forget that he was a demon. As long as his eyes stayed green, it was hard to remember that this was a creature from Hell.

Castile shook himself and remembered what he had read.

"A deal? Like – "

"It's just an expression, Cas, come on" Dean huffed impatiently. "What would I do with your soul?"

"Since you told me – wait, Cas?"

He didn't know why he was surprised. Although, thinking about it – he had never had a nickname, if one didn't count "Cassie". "Cas" sounded much better, even though he had no idea why the demon would decide to call him that.

"Can't call you by an angel's full name. Too blasphemous. See, I did my homework." The demon grinned, his eyes black once more. "Number?"

"Sorry?" Castiel blinked.

"Your phone number. No reason to show up and freak you out every time I want something. Better to call first".

Castiel nodded dumbly and took out his phone. After they had both programmed each other's number in the respective devices, Dean asked, "So, you're going to let me out or – "

Castiel, still surprised at how well things had turned out, but thankful, quickly scratched of some of the paint.

In the next moment, the demon had pinned him to a wall, a hand around his neck. Castiel forced himself to breathe calmly.

"First lesson" Dean growled in his ear. "Never trust a demon".

He let go and took a step back. When he reached out again, Castiel flinched, but he merely straightened his tie. The agent pretended that he didn't feel his warm fingers, so human, at his throat.

"Can't let you walk around like this since we're working together".

He smiled and winked at Castiel as he cheerfully said, "See ya, Cas". Then he disappeared.

Castiel was left alone with a floor to clean and the feeling that he wasn't at all sure what he had just made the demon agree to.


	8. Chapter 8

He found himself strangely relieved, even after two hours of cleaning, as he drove back to Enid. The conversation with Dean Winchester had given him the certainty that he wasn't crazy and something to do. He didn't doubt that he would call. He should have, but he didn't.

The drive passed quickly as he went over their discussion again. A demon was killing the people, the hunters – they didn't appear to have any acquaintances in common, but that didn't mean that no one knew about hunters. Someone had to know who they were and where they lived. He would call Dean and ask him. He had to possess information about them he had not yet shared.

If he didn't pick up, he could always someone him again, and Castiel told himself that the picture of Dean in the devil's trap, frustrated, didn't make him smile. He was still a demon, a demon who had saved his life, but a demon nonetheless.

And yet he felt lighter. Maybe it truly was the relief that he wasn't losing his mind. Or that he had a theory –

His heart sank.

The case. Balthazar.

How could he tell him what he knew? His friend would have him taken off the case.

He could have summoned Dean, proved to him that demons existed. But of what use would it be? He would only put his friend in danger. If these demons were capable of what he had seen in the victims' houses, they were capable of everything.

In the end, he decided that he wouldn't tell him anything for now. He could always do so at a later date.

"You look happy" Balthazar commented immediately when he entered their office, and Castiel felt himself blush. He had tried to behave as if nothing had changed, and of course hadn't succeeded.

Although he wouldn't agree that he felt "happy". Satisfied, content, anticipation at what was to come – but happy? He had just talked to a demon and they had decided to work a case together. This hardly warranted the description.

He shrugged.

"I talked to Missouri Moseley" he said.

"Again? I don't know what you have with this woman."

"You are intimidated by her. This doesn't mean I have to be".

"I am not intimidated by her" Balthazar insisted, although he looked back down on the file as he spoke, and Castiel smiled a small smile that went unseen by his friend.

"But, since you didn't find anything, or you would have told me immediately, let's come to the interesting part" he continued, raising his head. Castiel recognized the expression in his face as one that always either preceding teasing him or annoying him otherwise, and he sighed.

"Don't be like that. You were so full of joy just a moment ago. So who is it, Cassie?"

Castiel looked at him.

"Who is what?" he asked, confused.

"Come on" his fried replied smugly. "You forget how well I know you. I'm wounded, really".

"I don't know what you mean" Castiel answered, starting to feel annoyed.

Balthazar shot him a reproachful look. "I have known you for ten years. In all this time, you have never managed to fix your tie. Now you stroll in, the knot tied perfectly. Someone did it for you. So, who was it? The cute, smart forensic girl?"

"Rachel?" Castiel asked and blushed once more, although for a different reason than Balthazar thought. It was true that he didn't date much, and that no one had ever fixed his tie or cared enough how he looked like to do so since he started wearing them in the academy.

But Balthazar was obviously interpreting it as showing their intentions, and this wasn't true.

"It wasn't Rachel".

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he realized how much more practical a lie would have been when Balthazar straightened up.

"No?" There was something predatory in his voice. "Who was it, then?"

"How do you know it wasn't Missouri?" Castiel shot back. "Not everything has to be about..." he trailed off.

Balthazar laughed. "Oh Cassie, Cassie, you are so wonderfully old-fashioned".

He grew serious when he saw Castiel's expression.

"I was just kidding."

Castiel thought that the topic was dealt with, but Balthazar added, "It could be good for you, you know. I'm not saying – just think about it".

He didn't answer and thankfully, Balthazar concentrated on the files once more, leaving him to wonder how people could easily jump to conclusions from a fixed tie.

When his colleague threw a file over the table and angrily remarked that they had got nothing, he felt guilty for not telling him. But it was for the best, at least as long as he wasn't sure what exactly was going on. Right now, he only knew that demons killed people and that Dean thought something bigger was behind all of it.

He would call Dean as soon as he arrived in his hotel room tonight, he decided. He tried to fight down the anticipation he was feeling, not only because Balthazar would be able to see it, but also because he shouldn't feel this way during a murder investigation, especially not such a gruesome one.

"You should call Henricksen" Balthazar remarked casually as they went over the evidence once again.

"He is wondering why I am the one giving him reports".

Castiel realized that their boss was concerned about him. He had never been a cause of unease for Henricksen before, and he decided to call him immediately so he wouldn't be called back.

He sounded angry and yet pleased that Castiel had called.

"Do you have anything at all?"

A demon, Castiel thought. A demon who was chasing after other demons so he could find the one who was behind all of this, a demon who had sometimes green eyes and fixed his tie and had agreed to work with him.

He didn't say any of that. Instead, he was quiet, knowing how his boss would interpret the silence.

Henricksen sighed.

"I would call you back, but you have produced no results". His voice was flat, only stating the facts, without reproof, and Castiel understood immediately what he meant. If they had left after the first murder, it wouldn't have roused any attention. But they had worked on three crime scenes, with three different departments. It would seem like abandoning the police that had called them in.

He managed not to sigh with relief, but only barely. They would stay.

He quickly told Henricksen about the progress they had, or rather hadn't, made and it was obvious his boss was glad that he sounded like his usual self.

He would have thought differently if he had known who Castiel had been talking to a few hours ago.

They ended the call and Castiel returned into the office for a few other useless hours. His excitement grew as the time to leave drew near, but he tried not to let Balthazar see. He couldn't say whether his friend noticed or not, but since he didn't make a comment, he decided that even if Balthazar did know, he was probably thinking it had something to do with the one who'd fixed his tie.

It had, but not in the way he thought. Castiel ignored his smile at the end of the day, when he told him goodnight after dinner, and went to his room.

Having a phone number was certainly more convenient than drawing a sigil on the floor. He only hoped Dean would pick up.

He did so shortly after the ninth ring, just as Castiel had convinced himself that he wouldn't.

"Yes?"

"Hello Dean" he said, "We need to talk".

"I thought we already did that."

"You will admit that there is more to talk about" Castiel insisted, and Dean sighed.

"Of course I meet the only man who wants to talk instead of running for the hills" he grumbled.

"I could just summon you again" Castiel replied, surprised at his own lack of fear. Dean had all but attacked him when he had let him out of the devil's trap, and yet he wasn't scared.

He was even looking forward to seeing the demon again. It was exciting.

He didn't understand.

"Alright. Where are you?"

The demon's voice had changed, sounding cold and cutting, and Castiel wondered if he should tell him.

He shook himself. He was the one who had called. They needed to talk.

"Hotel Barn" he said, rattling off the address, "Room 315".

As soon as he had finished speaking, he felt that he wasn't alone anymore, and turned around to find Dean, eyes black, snarling.

He didn't back him against a wall, but he came to stand close to him, so close that Castiel could see the reflection of light in the black orbs.

"Don't give me ultimatums" Dean said calmly, even though Castiel could tell that he was angry. "Don't make me do things I don't want to do. Don't order me around. Capisce?"

"Yes" Castiel replied, taking a step back, fighting down the fear that had risen at Dean's words. "I capisce".

Dean relaxed, changed his eyes to green and sat down on the bed in one fluid motion.

While he had seen the demon's mood change before, this was even quicker and scarier than the other times, and Castiel took a deep breath.

"You wanted to talk" Dean said.

"Yes. I need to know more."

"Welcome to the club. If I knew – "

"The victims are hunters" Castiel interrupted him. He hesitated, wondering if he should sit beside Dean, before deciding to settle into the only chair in the room. "There are others out there?"

"Of course" Dean said, rolling his eyes. "There have to be. More than enough sons of bitches to gank running around".

"Who are they?"

He blinked. "What do you mean? Men like Stevens, of course, or the couple – "

"The demons are after a group. After the hunters. If we know who they are – "

"You want to protect them". Dean, if anything, seemed amused.

"Yes" Castiel said, irritated.

Dean chuckled. "Trust me, they can protect themselves."

"Then why are they dead?"

"Occupational hazard". He wasn't trying to make Castiel angry; he was genuinely convinced that the victims were no more than people who had failed to protect themselves.

"It doesn't matter" Castiel said calmly. "But if we knew who the hunters were, who was likely to be targeted, we could – "

"Catch them in the act? Trust me, too many hunters out there. And the guy would be careful to check that no one's near."

"Then how are we supposed to find them?" Castiel asked.

"I haven't been idle" Dean replied, standing up and walking to the mini-bar. Balthazar had naturally insisted that they check into a hotel that had one in every room.

He took out two beers and offered one to Castiel. He wanted to decline, but something in Dean's expression made him decide to take it.

He let himself fall on the bed.

"I am good at questioning suspects".

They way he said it – the words pressed out, flat, devoid of all emotion – let Castiel realize immediately what he was talking about. Although, once again, he found that he couldn't say how he knew.

Dean had tortured suspects.

It was difficult to imagine him doing it. Despite having seen him kill someone without a second thought, it was difficult. He looked at his hands, rolling the beer bottle, and tried to picture a knife cutting into flesh in them.

"And?" he asked, managing to keep the tremble out of his voice.

Dean looked up, surprised.

It was surprisingly easy to read him. He had expected Castiel to challenge him. Maybe he had told him so that he would get ready and tell him to leave.

He shrugged.

"There aren't many demons who would do such a thing. I've been trying to find out who'd dare to attempt it. And then, of course, there's the whole killing hunters thing. It makes sense, if one wants to rule Earth as well as take over Hell – "

"Take over Hell?"

Castiel had to ask. It was one thing to have demons killing people; but to hear that this happened because one of them wanted to take over Hell –

"Yes. Anyway – "

"What do you mean, "Take over Hell"?" Castiel demanded.

Dean looked at him.

"You don't wanna know".

"I do" he insisted.

"Are you sure?" Dean asked gruffly, looking down at his bottle again. When he looked up and saw Castiel was still staring at him stubbornly, he took a gulp from his bottle and said, "Don't say I didn't warn ya. Okay, here it goes".

And then Castiel finally heard the truth.

The truth he had been looking for, puzzling over.

"Lucifer's still in his cage, so they need a new boss downstairs. And there's competition."

Castiel frowned.

"Are you telling me – the devil – " he thought about what he had read. "But there was no cage. The devil is responsible for anything sinful that happens on Earth, and – "

Dean laughed. Apparently Castiel's interruption amused him, and he swallowed down his irritation.

"He ruled Hell. And he created the first demons. Was thrown in a cage though. And there he's still. So we're devil-less, and there are enough who are interested in the job."

"Are you – are you talking about a civil war in Hell?"

"You could call it that. Anyway, one of the competitors isn't just after Hell, but after Earth too. So he's killing of hunters. At least that's our theory."

"Our?"

Dean waved a hand in the air.

"Guy I've been working with. Doesn't matter. Back to the topic: Killing hunters in this fashion – it's a ritual."

"I noticed" Castiel replied drily, and Dean chuckled.

"Forgot you're used to this stuff. I didn't mean like serial killer ritual, though. I meant like demon ritual, like unleashing all demons on Earth ritual".

That was a little quick, even for Castiel. He gulped down half of his beer as he tried to wrap his head around what he had just heard.

"But you are here. Others are here. Why do demons have to be unleashed?"

"It's not easy to crawl out of Hell."

There was a darkness in Dean's green eyes that had nothing to do with their natural black, and Castiel chose not to ask. The demon continued.

"The ritual – it's old." Dean pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and held it out to Castiel, who carefully took it.

It wasn't paper. He could tell that much. And it certainly looked old; brown and leathery, at some points it was almost impossible to read.

He quickly went through the text.

"Obscure Latin?" he guessed because he recognized some of the words.

Dean nodded.

"Some crazy guy wrote it in the fourteenth century. Almost impossible to translate." He paused for a moment, then started to grin.

"By the way, that ain't paper."

"What's it then?"

"Human skin".

Castiel managed not to let the ritual drop, but only just. Dean laughed.

"That's something I don't miss about being human" he commented before he grew serious.

"So, someone whose identity we don't know is trying to take over Hell. Clear?"

"Clear" Castiel said, putting the ritual on the desk and wiping his hand on his trousers.

"And this is a ritual that will allow all demons to enter Earth – at least the ones who are allowed. Whoever completes the ritual gets to pick".

"He's trying to take over Hell and Earth on the same time?"

Dean looked at him and shook his head.

"Aren't you supposed to be one of the Bureau's best or something?"

Castiel blushed, anger rising in him. He was good; he was one of the best agents they had ever had, and if this demon thought –

A thought occurred to him.

"Wait. How do you know?"

It was Dean's turn to blush, and again, Castiel was surprised how human he looked when he did something like this, small gestures that showed that he hadn't forgotten his life before he went to Hell.

"Did you – inform yourself about me?"

"I had a right to. You were the one who trapped me".

"I let you out".

"Yes. After you trapped me".

Castiel sighed. This wasn't going anywhere.

"So demons want to take over Earth. I can understand that. I can understand them wanting to take over Hell too – to be a leader. But how is one dependent on the other?"

"At the moment, none of the competitors is stronger than the other. Taking over Earth and freeing one's own guys would ensure that they end up on top. Think about it. Every demon would be all for the one who freed him from Hell. They would be waiting in line to join his ranks."

"Why are you sure it's only one?"

Dean raised an eyebrow and took another sip of his beer.

Castiel gestured towards the ritual with his bottle.

"Why are you sure it's only one demon who wants to take over Earth and Hell with the ritual? It sounds like a sure way to win the war".

"Men go to Hell, become demons. Demons come to Earth, kill and corrupt men. Most demons don't wanna risk something like that – at least not without Lucifer. He's kind of their God. He should be the one to bring Hell on earth, according to many. And there are others who don't wanna upset the equilibrium. No one knows what will happen if they do. Don't get me wrong, they'll jump on the train the moment they know everything went well, but until then – they won't do anything like it".

Castiel noticed that Dean had called Lucifer _their_ God, but didn't say anything. Dean, when he wasn't threatening him and his eyes were green, seemed utterly human, and he was grateful for it. He wouldn't challenge his picture of himself as non-demonic.

"So this ritual..." he began, "what does it entail?"

"Not easy to translate, I can tell you that. Would've been lost if I hadn't had a friend to help."

Castiel doubted that the "friend" was truly such, based on the way Dean pronounced the word.

"They have to kill "ten of those who fight against darkness"" Dean quoted, "and the eviscerating and making crosses out of the body parts is also part of the deal. In our age, those who fight against darkness – "

"Are hunters" Castiel finished.

Dean nodded.

"Then, quite frankly, there's a bunch of other nasty stuff. Most of it falling into the you don't wanna know category. So I've been working on getting the guy who orders all of this."

"And if we don't get him?"

Dean grimaced.

"It's not gonna be Hell on Earth, not at first" he said finally. "Even if they complete the ritual, they'll want to take things slowly – "

"And who tells you that?" Castiel demanded hotly. "The "friend" who translated the ritual for you? You can't just hope things will turn out alright. Also, you spoke of Lucifer in his cage. That demons believe in Lucifer. That he should be the one to do what they are trying to do. Why doesn't anyone try to free him?"

"What makes you think they didn't?" Dean hissed, his eyes turning black. Castiel jumped up and backed away, surprised by the ferocity in the demon's manner.

Dean was clutching the bottle in his hand, and even as Castiel watched, a few tiny cracks appeared in the glass. The small breaking noise seemed to call Dean to reason, and he shook his head and took a deep breath.

When he answered, his voice was flat, and Castiel knew he wasn't telling the truth, or at least not the whole truth.

"They wanted to get him out. They had to break – they had to do some stuff to make it. But they failed. The Righteous Man – there was a guy who had to shed blood in Hell, but while he was still a person, still a man, still good. He broke too quickly" Dean explained.

This wasn't the whole story, far from it. And Castiel didn't understand anything. But Dean was still breathing heavily, and there were helplessness and shame in his dark eyes, so the agent once again decided that the best course was to say nothing.

"So no Lucifer" he replied. "But still – we'll have to find the one responsible soon. They are four hunters down".

Dean nodded.

"And there'll soon be more. Now, since we don't know who – "

"But if we – "

"I told you, just knowing hunters won't bring anything. There are too many of them, and if the one behind this is as clever as we think, he'll have the next murder several states away."

"They have to be fathers, brothers, sisters" Castiel said bitterly. "Doesn't this mean anything to you?"

Dean was silent, and Castiel looked up from his bottle to find him staring out of the window. He resigned himself to the fact that the demon didn't care and asked, "So what now?"

"I investigate, you try to keep your colleagues as far away from the truth as possible" Dean answered cheerfully, although it sounded forced to Castiel's ears, "and when I get stuck in a trap or something is demon-proof, I call you. See you, Cas".

With these words, he was gone, and Castiel was left to contemplate the plan to conquer Earth and why Dean had been so quick to leave.

He didn't think he would see Dean again, at least not until the demon had more information to give him or needed him to get out of some trap. But Dean woke him up a few hours later, out of the first restful sleep he had gotten in a while.

When someone touched his shoulder, he jumped out of bed and turned the lights on, grabbing for the gun he had left in the drawer of the night stand.

A hand on his wrist stopped him, and he looked up in Dean's black eyes.

"Easy there, tiger".

The demon sounded amused as he looked Castiel up and down, and he was suddenly uncomfortably aware that he was only wearing a t-shirt and boxers. He crossed his arms over his chest and demanded, "What do you want?"

"You really need to make this place demon-proof. You summoned me, you should know how to protect yourself" Dean said, apparently oblivious to his question. He sat down on the chair and grinned at Castiel once more, and he remembered that he was wearing s _Playboy_ t-shirt that Gabriel had given him when they had still talked. And met. And given each other presents.

He decided not to think about it and repeated, "What do you want?"

He had grown accustomed to Dean's black eyes, which was probably strange since they hadn't spent much time together. He had even got used to green eyes suddenly turning black and back again; but black eyes suddenly flashing green before they became dark once more was still a surprise to him.

Dean looked at the floor, the walls, anywhere but him. Castiel wanted to ask, but he didn't dare. The demon was obviously here for a reason. He wouldn't talk unless he wanted to.

Finally, Dean took a deep breath and began.

"About the other hunters. You said something about warning them."

When he didn't continue, Castiel prompted, "Yes?"

"There might be – alright, there's one. A rather well-known hunter. They might be worried he might get the hang of what's happening."

He paused again, and Castiel tilted his head. He couldn't say why Dean had stopped – was he ashamed? Embarrassed? Both?

When Dean spoke again, he only said one name. Before he did, he paced up and down the room, and when he finally did say it, he pressed it out, quickly, almost as if he'd rather not.

"Bobby. Bobby Singer".


	9. Chapter 9

He had no idea what had made him tell Cas Bobby’s name. It wasn’t like they were still what they had once been. Dying and becoming a demon cut all ties. He didn’t miss his humanity. It had been a bitch while he still had it. All that guilt and self-hating crap. He knew he would have been shocked at what he had become, but he didn’t care. Demons didn’t care.

So why had he told Cas to check on Bobby? The old drunk could look out for himself. He’d gank any demon who dared try and get into his house. No reason to worry there.

They why had he told Cas?

Why did he even speak to Cas? It wasn’t like he couldn’t tell him not to call him anymore. It wasn’t like he couldn’t make sure he didn’t call him anymore.

Only that he didn’t want to.

He clenched his glass. He was in another bar then the one he had zapped in after he had left the agent the first time – he had to admit, teleporting did come in handy – because he didn’t want to attract suspicion by showing that he couldn’t get hammered even if he wanted to.

Well, maybe he could. He would have to drink a whole liquor store, though.

He sighed and stared into his whiskey. This damn humanity that he thought he’d left behind just wouldn’t go away. The little shred of it that had been stubborn enough to go through Hell and back, anyway.

If Hell was supposed to have any perks, it was that, wasn’t it? Not caring anymore? And here he had drunk almost a whole bottle of whiskey, the bartender eyeing him strangely, before he’d woken up Cas and told him to warn Bobby. He never could catch a break.

Why was he even talking to the guy, dammit? Killing him was out of the question – while he had no problems ganking other demons, he wasn’t keen on murder, like many of the others.

He grimaced. He still hadn’t got used to think of himself as one of those he had hunted. Another thing that set him apart from the normal demons. Most of them couldn’t remember being human, and wouldn’t believe him when he told them. Idiots.

He concentrated on the problem at hand. Why that Castiel guy? He had run into him, he had almost got himself killed. He was good, according to his file, which he had taken a look at because he considered it important who he was dealing with and not because he was curious, but Dean could handle this on his own. What could the agent do?

He was such a weird guy too. Named after an angel, always so polite. Even when he was frustrated. His need to get the truth out of him reminded Dean of Sam –

No. He wasn’t going there. He never went there. He couldn’t see the Sasquatch again, couldn’t let him see what he had become. He wouldn’t go to him and he wouldn’t think about him.

He was safe. Dean had checked on him. His little brother was safe and happy, living with a nice woman, working in her dad’s auction house. He might even go back to study law, who knew. He had the brains for it, and he’d always wanted to be a lawyer. He’d be a damn good one.

Sam was happy. He was probably relieved that his screwed-up brother was gone. Dean wouldn’t show him what he had become. He couldn’t need that right now, when he was shopping for rings.

So yeah, he might check on the kid more often than he should. He had practically raised him, he had a damn right to.  

No reason to do the same with Bobby, though. He had always been dependent on his brother, but Hell should have taught him better than to care about the drunk former mechanic.

He had sent an agent to him. Bobby would be thrilled.

Dean resisted the urge to let his head fall on the bar, but only barely. He took another sip from his whiskey.

“Falling into old patterns, I see” a smooth voice called out behind him, and he sighed. Should’ve known that son of a bitch would come to check on him.

“What do you want, Crowley?” he demanded without turning around.

The demon smiled as he slid into the chair next to him, ordering a glass of Craig.

“Just wanted to make sure you are working hard” he answered smoothly. “And not looking after the angel boy with the blue eyes. I’ve got to hand it to you, mate: You have got good taste.”

Dean almost groaned, but decided against it. Crowley would only take it as a victory.

He had always been drawn to certain men. His crush on Doctor Sexy would have been enough indication, had anyone cared to look for evidence. He’d never admitted it to himself in his human life. But since Hell had burned away his inhibitions, as well as his self-hatred, had decided that he shouldn’t waste time when he could have fun. So what if he swung both ways. No harm in making a man or woman and himself happy.

Crowley knew, of course. There wasn’t much he didn’t know.

His comments rarely got under Dean’s skin, but he didn’t like the implication of him and Cas. They were working together. Better to keep the two things separate. It wasn’t as if he was even attracted to Castiel, with these blue eyes and his build and –

Okay, he could appreciate something pretty when he looked at it. But he didn’t need complications. And he didn’t even know what Castiel liked.

“We’re working together” he said.

“No” Crowley replied, gesturing between them, “ _we_ are working together. I can’t see how your little agent could help us”.

Dean couldn’t really either, but he wasn’t going to tell Crowley he was right. The smug bastard would never forget it.

So he decided to argue, waving to the barman for a refill.

“If I’m caught in a devil’s trap, he might get in handy.”

It was flimsier than the excuses he had used when he’d still been human, and that was saying something.

Crowley snorted beside him and answered in his usual British monotone (and how he managed to still speak with his accent when they guy he was possessing was from New York, Dean had no idea).

“It’s not that I don’t understand. He is handsome, if you dig the whole accountant look. Just make sure he doesn’t know too much or talk to the wrong people”.

Dean recognized it for the threat it was. He wasn’t concerned. He knew what Crowley was capable of, but Crowley knew what he was capable of. They both knew how to treat one another. And Crowley needed him. Dean had been a hunter, and he was still good. He could figure out stuff most demons wouldn’t even consider. And Crowley had enough to do trying to promote himself as King of Hell without looking for his rivals or the one who wanted to open Hell.

“So, what do you know?” Crowley’s tone was mocking, and Dean knew what was coming.

“Found the demon who killed the first victims. It was Billy”. Dean shrugged. It didn’t make anything easier. Billy had never belonged to any party, not officially, at least. And even if he had been part of the one whose leader was only a whisper – they had never talked, no matter how many times Crowley and Dean had tried to get them to.

“Maybe we could question him – oh wait, you killed him for your agent”.

“He wouldn’t have told us anything anyway” Dean said, because it was true.

Crowley knew it too.

He emptied his glass and stood up.

“Just a piece of advice my friend: Be careful”.

Dean didn’t answer. Everything he wanted to say had already crossed Crowley’s mind. Wasn’t difficult to guess. There were only so many ways in which one could tell someone to “Piss Off”.

He stood up and threw money on the table. He could have left without paying, and he mostly did, but he’d spent a few hours here and he didn’t want to attract any attention. He didn’t need a demon jumping him from behind. Even if he would win.

The bartender seemed glad to see him go. Dean debated flashing him his black eyes, just for fun, but it wasn’t worth it.

He went out into the night and looked up at the sky. It was a warm night, stars sparkling for all to see. It was a night he and Sam would have spent sitting on the Impala, staring into the blue velvet over them.

It didn’t matter. His old life didn’t matter. Sometimes he wondered why he even remembered at all. He had broken. He had been torn apart under knives and hooks and torture instruments he had never seen before and hoped he’d never seen again, every day slowly losing a bit of what he had been.

Dean shook his head. He didn’t dwell on the past. Demons didn’t dwell on the past, and he was one of them now. He was simply pissed off. Pissed off because Crowley was right. He had killed off their only lead. And he had even played it down when Cas had asked him about it.

Everything would have been much easier if this strange agent wouldn’t have insisted on working with him.

He would have to wait for a new murder – and he only realized that he might have sent Cas to a crime scene. That he might have sent Cas to find Bobby dead.

A worry he had thought dead swept through him, and he angrily stormed off. He could have teleported anywhere he wanted, but walking calmed him down.

He passed a shop window and realized that, though alone and not caring, he hadn’t changed his eyes back to black yet. For the past few months, since he had crawled out of Hell, he had had to remind himself to make them green. Now he forgot to give them back their natural colour.

Since he had met –

Damn it. He wasn’t human anymore. He was a demon. Demons didn’t have feelings. They didn’t care about old drunks or little brothers or stupid feds who ran into a crime scene.

And what if Bobby was –

He really should never have talked to Castiel. Talking with humans obviously made him sentimental.

Focus on the case, he told himself. He had to find out the demon who had found the ritual and was willing to risk opening Hell. It should be easy, but it wasn’t. Apparently there was a powerful demon who had hidden himself for years.

And none of those who worked for him would tell them about him. Dean was starting to suspect that they couldn’t. Maybe there was some spell that could force them not to reveal what they knew. If they were trying to find a demon who could do that – and it looked like they did – it wouldn’t be easy.

What else was new.

He zapped to a clearing in the woods near the town, deciding that he’d have enough of streets for a while.

Until there was a new murder, he would have to go back to look for other demons whom might be involved with the hidden one, and that just was no fun.

He sighed.

Nothing from his informant, either.

Why couldn’t the demon be like any other demon and boast how good he was and that they should all follow him and take over Earth.

Dean Winchester: Unable to catch a break after he went through Hell. It figured.

He ran his fingers through his hair. All of this would be so much easier if he could talk to Sam. That was probably why he was still talking to weird trench coat FBI angel dude. Nostalgia.

“Preoccupied, are we?”

He didn’t turn around because he recognized the tone, if not the voice.

“Anything?” he inquired.

“It’s not easy. Nobody will say anything. I have to gain their trust slowly”.

The person, or rather demon, had come to stand beside him and Dean looked to his left.

He wasn’t surprised that she’d picked a woman who looked like she had. Beautiful and cold. The accent, like Crowley’s, had stayed.

“If I remember correctly, you referred to yourself as “great” once.”

“You still know what I said during our first meeting. I am touched.”

He sighed. “Cut the crap, Bela. This is important”.

She shot him a look that clearly said “I know” and raised an eyebrow.  

For the first time since he’d made his way back unto Earth, he’d sounded defeated. No wonder she was looking at him weirdly. What was the matter with him? Was he really worried? About Bobby? About Cas?

He was only annoyed that he had to think about them in the first place, he decided.

He turned to look at his spy. Bela was the perfect woman for the job. When they had found each other in Hell, and it had given him satisfaction to know that she had broken before he did, there had been some resentment, but soon they understood one another perfectly well. Neither of them wanted Hell on earth, and both could remember what it was like to be human.

He wondered why Bela did. He’d had Sammy to hold unto, but she... Maybe she missed her money.

Then again – they had never made clear how much they remembered; perhaps she had only a dim recollection of him. She certainly was aware that he hadn’t helped her. Had neither been capable nor willing.

He still didn’t trust her completely. He hadn’t when he was human, so he sure as hell wasn’t gonna to now when she was a demon. But she was good at what she did. And she was known to have double-crossed them on more than one occasion, so she could gain the trust of whoever was behind this. Dean was too well known to even attempt it.

She could still betray him. But this time, he’d kill her without remorse.

“Why are you here?” he asked. She only came when she had something to tell him. She relaxed when she heard his aggressive tone, and he decided that he probably would have found that strange when he was human.

“There are rumours flying around in Hell”.

“There are always rumours flying around in Hell”.

It was all they had. Rumours. Memories hurt too much. Rumours were easy. One could live with rumours, with half-truths. Memories hurt because they were real; rumours didn’t because one always knew they weren’t. There was never going to be any hope in Hell. Rumours didn’t give hope. Rumours distracted one from the fire.

“They say you’re working for Crowley”.

He felt irritation that he should be considered working for Crowley. He wasn’t working for anyone. He never had.

“I’m working with him” he corrected. “But they’re more or less right. Why bother?”

“Because this paints a hit mark on your back” she said. “An even bigger one than was there before.”

When he didn’t answer, she added, “You really don’t care, do you”.

“I care about stopping this” he said. He did. He didn’t want demons running around. Other than that – he enjoyed himself when he had the time, but death had lost its terror. He’d been burned so often in Hell that it really didn’t matter. So someone wanted to gank him. Big deal.

“You haven’t learned anything from your time downstairs” she commented. He shrugged.

“I’m better than them.”

“You thought that before”.

He looked her in the eyes – eyes that were blue, but were black now – and let his own assume the same colour.

“No I didn’t.”

He hadn’t wanted to die, but he had been aware that he stood at best a small chance to escape the contract. He hadn’t made it. Who cared. He was back now and there were more important things at stake.

Silence reigned between them. He remembered how he had found her. He had come across her by accident. He’d been roaming, trying to find a way out, right after he had turned, when there had still been something like desperation left in him and he had not yet lost himself in the endless line of faces under his hands, when Alastair had been torturing someone else, furious that the righteous man hadn’t stayed righteous long enough to start the Apocalypse. He could have left her, suspended in the chamber, hooks tearing into what little of her humanity remained, but he had cut her down. He knew she remembered too. And it was enough to not make her insist on continuing the conversation.

“I’ll try to find him”. A moment later she was gone..

The sun was rising slowly, the first few rays touching the leaves of the trees he stood under, turning them golden.

Cas would soon be on his way to Bobby.

He could still return to the hotel, tell him not to bother. And if the agent didn’t want to listen, he had methods to get him to comply.

He stayed where he was, watching the sun slowly touching more and more trees.

Why shouldn’t Dean let him talk to Bobby. He wouldn’t have to worry about either of them, Cas would be busy, and he had told him not to mention his name. No danger there.

He had to focus on other things. Like finding the son of a bitch who considered it a good idea to let a legion of demons free.

Whoever it was, they were not only daring, but stupid. Demons were selfish bastards. Even if they accepted him as their King, it wouldn’t be for long. They’d be too busy killing folks and making deals to obey.

Demons were idiotic sons of bitches, always had been, always would be. Maybe that’s why Dean had become one in the first place and why he still found a few traces of humanity in him. He really hadn’t been that different before his stay downstairs.  

He gave up on attempting to convince himself to stop the agent, and left to continue his investigations.

* * *

 

It wouldn’t be easy to lie to Balthazar again.

His friend knew him too well. The only reason Castiel had got away with summoning Dean without his knowledge was that he had been in Lawrence, like he said he would, and had talked to Missouri. To explain why he had to travel to Singer’s Salvage Yard was going to be difficult.

Dean had told him that it was located in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. It would take him over eight hours to get there, if he drove fast.

There was no reason for him to spend a whole day on the road. Bobby Singer couldn’t give them any information. If he told Balthazar he was a witness, he would ask for proof, anything that would show that it was worth it to sit in a car for hours. And Bobby Singer wasn’t a witness.

It was someone Dean was concerned about. A hunter. Why would a demon be concerned about a hunter? If he was worried about any potential victim, he would have sent Castiel to more addresses. But there was only the one. Which meant there was probably a personal relationship between them.

Dean was a demon, but demons had been human before they went to Hell. So maybe they had known each other before – but why couldn’t he warn him himself, then? Instead, Dean had told him not to mention his name.

Why would he want him to stay safe, but not know that it was Dean who warned him?

Castiel wouldn’t know until he went there. If he went there. He shouldn’t. It might be a trap. Dean was a demon, he reminded himself again. It was alarming how easily he could forget this little fact; how quick he was to remember Dean sitting on his bed, relaxing, beer in hand –

He shook himself. He shouldn’t go to Bobby Singer’s. Dean had said that hunters could protect himself. And he didn’t have a greater right to be warned than any other man.

But Castiel knew his name. Castiel couldn’t warn others. But he could warn him.

He was fighting a losing battle.

It was not only his job to solve crimes, but to protect people. And if there was a chance, a slight chance, that he could protect one man from this killer –

He admitted to himself that he would drive to the hunter.

Still, he didn’t like the prospect of lying to Balthazar.

He put on his tie – and once again didn’t manage to knot it properly. As always, it hung around his neck backwards. He ran his fingers through his hair that would never stay put and grabbed his trench coat before exiting his room. He had spent the last hours waiting for day to come. He hadn’t been able to sleep after Dean had woken him up. There had been something so human about his plea. Castiel had been thinking about it since the demon had left.

Lingering wouldn’t do any good, and he went down to the restaurant. Balthazar was sure to already be there, eating breakfast.

His colleague frowned when he sat down across from him. He’d put a little bit of toast on his plate, but not much, since he didn’t have an appetite.

“You haven’t slept”.

“I did”.

“Not much. And do you call that breakfast?”

“Who are you? My mother?” Castiel snapped, uncharacteristically, and decided too late that this wasn’t the way to convince Balthazar that he was fine and that he had to go for a drive to an unspecified location.

He looked away but could feel Balthazar’s stare on his face.

“I have to go somewhere” he heard himself saying. “I’ll be back in two days”.

“What?”

He turned and looked at his friend. He was staring at him, shocked.

“What do you mean, “somewhere”? And two days? We are in the middle of something, you do realize that?”

“We have nothing.”

“And therefore you decide to take a road trip? Does this even have anything to do with the case?”

“It does”.

He wasn’t lying, not completely, and he took comfort in that.

“Then I’ll come with you”.

“I need you here.”

“You mean you need me to keep Henricksen of your back”.

Castiel nodded.

For a moment, he thought Balthazar would say no. He would go anyway, but it would be difficult to explain to Henricksen what he was doing if his friend didn’t cover for him.

“I can’t get you to stay, can I” Balthazar stated, and he shook his head.

The other agent narrowed his eyes.

“Fine. But this is the last time.”

“Thank you” Castiel said, sprang up and left his plate before Balthazar could ask him more questions. Ten minutes later, he was on the road, his bag sitting in the trunk of the car with enough clothes to get him through two days at least.

He drove non-stop. He didn’t feel hungry or tired, anticipation coursing through his veins. He was curious. Maybe he could learn more about Dean from Bobby Singer, even if he couldn’t mention his name. They had to know each other.

Perhaps he could shed light on the murders. Dean had warned him that he was a bit “gruff around the edges”, but would listen if he had to. The man was a hunter, and the victims had been too. And once Castiel told him about the ritual, he _would_ have to listen to him.

With Dean’s description and a map, Singer’s Salvage Yard was easy to find, and he drove into the somewhat neglected looking place, his heart beating faster.

He opened the door and looked towards the house; no one was coming out to see who had arrived. Maybe he wasn’t there. He would wait.

To be sure, he went to the door and knocked. To his surprise, it opened.

To his even greater surprise, he was looking into the barrel of a shotgun.


	10. Chapter 10

Castiel had been in many dangerous situations before and kept his head.

"Bobby Singer?" he inquired, looking at the man who was holding the gun. He was over fifty, bearded, wore a sports cap and a t-shirt and plaid combination that wasn't that different from the ones he had seen on Dean.

"Who wants to know?" he asked.

Castiel reached into a pocket of his trench coat without his eyes leaving the man. The finger on the trigger tightened.

"I am reaching for my badge".

The finger relaxed slightly and he pulled it out, showing it to the man.

"Special Agent Castiel Novak".

While he didn't lower his gun, he snatched the badge out of Castiel's hand, quicker than he would have thought him capable of, and scrutinized it.

"Seems legit". He focused his gaze on Castiel again, the shotgun still pointing at him.

"Why are you here?"

"Could we discuss this inside, sir?" he asked politely. If he'd wanted to shoot him, he would have done so already.

Singer frowned, then nodded. He stepped aside and Castiel stepped over a doormat he was sure was hiding a sigil.

The man lowered his gun and Castiel looked around the house. He was standing in a hallway from which stairs led to the next floor as well as to the cellar. Through a door he could see in the kitchen; through another in the living room.

Bobby Singer didn't invite him into either, simply stood there and waited for an explanation.

When Castiel was silent, he said, "I repeat: Why are you here?"

"You are a hunter" he replied, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Castiel Novak, was it?"

He nodded.

"You're sure you're a fed?"

"You can call my boss, if you want" he answered, although he hoped he wouldn't. He'd rather Henricksen not find about this little excursion.

The ghost of a smile passed over Bobby Singer's face for reasons he couldn't imagine, but he immediately began questioning him.

"So I might be a hunter. So what? And what does it have to do with you?"

"Hunters have been killed" he said quickly, "George Stevens. Keith and Tracy McCall. . "

He could see that Singer had heard about it. The man's shoulders slumped and there was a flash of grief in his eyes. It was gone as quickly as it came.

"I know."

"I think that's why" he continued and took the ritual out of his pocket. He'd decided that it would be the best way to convince him that what he was saying was true.

Bobby took it and looked it over.

"It's gonna take me my golden years to translate this" he mumbled, but it was obvious from the way he went carefully over every line that he understood enough.

He looked at him.

"You are aware that that's – "

"Human skin. Yes".

Singer went into the living room without another word, and Castiel took that as an invitation to follow him.

The hunter sat down behind a desk and gestured for him to take place on one of the chairs in front of it. He chose the one to his right, and as it creaked, his head shot up.

Castiel couldn't read the look he gave him. Then Bobby shook his head and continued reading the manuscript.

"Where did you get that?" he asked gruffly.

It was the question Castiel had feared. Dean had told him where to find Bobby Singer and disappeared, more or less grumbling the address and making it clear that he really didn't want to do what he was doing, helping him warning a hunter.

He hadn't been able to ask any questions before the demon was gone again and had had to come up with a story on his own. This man was a hunter and would be suspicious, especially if he had heard about the deaths of the others.

"I – there was a demon. I surprised him at a crime scene. He ran, left this behind."

Bobby watched him shrewdly.

"Disappeared?"

Castiel remembered what he had read and what Dean had told him about demons possessing people.

"He left the body. He was dead. I found the manuscript on him and burned the body".

Bobby nodded, and Castiel felt that he had passed some sort of test. He felt ashamed that he had to lie to the man. Which didn't make sense, considering he had threatened him with a shotgun.

"You know what it is?"

"I know it's a ritual to open Hell" Castiel replied slowly, carefully. "I know that it would allow the demon who completed the ritual to choose who got on Earth."

He didn't mention the war in Hell. He wouldn't be able to explain how he knew about that without telling him about Dean.

Singer grunted before going over it again.

"It'll take some time to translate this" he said, more to himself than to Castiel. The agent waited for him to continue.

"How did you get involved? Working the case?"

He nodded. It occurred to him that the hunter would need additional information, how he knew about demons when he was a FBI agent, and opted for, "My father was interested in the occult. I slowly realized there was more out there".

Singer's eyes narrowed and Castiel wasn't sure if this was a good sign or not. The man seemed to be suspicious out of habit. If he fought demons and other monsters on a daily basis, Castiel couldn't blame him.

"Ever worked with other hunters? Never heard of you."

"I don't know any hunters" Castiel replied. He was growing annoyed. He wasn't used to being questioned.

He only realized his mistake when Singer stood up, his shotgun in his hand.

"Who gave you my name?"

He had to think quickly now. He wasn't only here because he wanted to warn this man, but also because he hoped he would find out more about Dean. He could only do that if he trusted him.

"The demon" he said firmly. "He began boasting who he was going to kill next. It wasn't difficult to find you".

"There's got to be more than one Robert Singer in the country".

"Not one who has enough time to hunt and lives alone" Castiel shot back. He hoped Singer would interpret this as him deciding that hunters lived alone most of the time so that no one would wonder what they were doing. Putting too many details into one's lies was dangerous. One always had to let the other person think for him or herself.

Singer laid the shotgun on the table again and Castiel relaxed.

"Come on. I could use a drink".

As with Dean, he decided to accept the beer Singer offered him. It was obvious that the hunter had decided to trust him, at least for the moment, and he wouldn't risk alienating him.

Plus, Singer was obviously waiting for him to drink. He had probably put something in that was repellent to demons, so Castiel took a sip. The other man appeared satisfied.

"Can't say I blame you for not wanting to get involved with hunters" Singer chuckled, sitting down on the couch. Castiel wondered if he should carry over the chair he'd sat in before, but decided to take place next to him.

"Hunting – it's a dangerous business".

He looked to his right, but quickly focused on Castiel again. He'd seen the look, of course, and tilted his head to see that there was a picture on the small table beside the couch.

He didn't inquire. He waited, knowing that people usually took this as an invitation to talk. Singer was no exception. Castiel could see him debating with himself if he should show him or not, then he shook his head, drowned his beer, slammed the bottle on the table, stood up and filled a glass with whiskey, everything so quickly and with such practice movements that Castile suspected it was a common occurrence.

Once he had downed half of his glass, he took the picture and all but shoved it into the agent's hands.

Castiel took one look at it and drew in a sharp breath, which he barely managed to cover with a cough. He took a swig of his beer to derail any suspicions Singer might have and took another look at the picture.

It showed Dean and another man he recognized as Sam from the picture Missouri Moseley had shown him at the Salvage Yard. Dean was leaning over a black car, its hood open, but looking at Sam, his eyes sparkling. They were both laughing.

Castiel didn't know why, but something hot flared up in him as he saw them laughing at one another.

"Sam and Dean."

For such a gruff man, his voice became surprisingly soft, and Castiel looked up.

Singer wasn't looking at him, or the picture. He was staring into the air, his eyes showing pain. Grief.

It hurt just to look at him, and Castiel swallowed. He had seen this expression more often than he would have wanted, and he would see it countless times in the future.

Relatives, people who had lost someone they loved.

"These are my – "

Singer looked down, appeared to be searching for a word, then he straightened himself up and continued, "adopted sons".

He was staring at Castiel now, as if expecting that he would challenge him. It took him a moment to understand why – of course he had looked into him before coming here, which the man was aware of; and therefore knew he had never adopted a child. He had been married once, but his wife had died years ago.

He didn't say anything.

Singer raised an eyebrow but didn't comment on his silence. He continued. "Hunters. Both of them. The damn finest" – his voice broke a little and Castiel pretended that he didn't hear – "Dean – the elder one, by the Impala" Castiel assumed that was the car "he died. Few years back. Sam got out".

Another pause, before he added, "He's doing good. Living with a girl. Wants to go back to college".

His voice had lost its sorrowful tone, but his eyes still spoke of grief. And it was for Dean. It was all for Dean.

Dean Winchester had been a hunter.

Castiel had learned why the demon wanted him to warn Bobby Singer. His adoptive father. Why didn't he want him to mention him? He had been to Hell, he was a demon. But he had saved Castiel. He wasn't a typical demon. His past must have prevented him from turning into a mindless killer. He clearly still cared for this man, if he wanted him safe. And he couldn't imagine that Singer wouldn't be glad to hear that he was alive.

The other man shook his head.

"Don't know why I'm telling you this".

"I'm a good listener" Castiel said simply. It was something he had been told many times, and why he was usually send to interview the victims' families if they had to do so themselves, despite his preference to stay in the background.

Singer chuckled and took another sip of his whiskey. "Can't argue with that".

Castiel held out the picture, and he took it, his eyes lingering on Dean's face, resuming the sad expression they'd held during his story.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Singer" Castiel said. He was. For not telling him that Dean was alive. For sitting here, hearing his story, knowing what he did.

Singer carefully put the picture back in his place before replying, still looking at the picture, "No one has said that before".

Years of grieving for a loved one without anyone giving their condolences. Without anyone knowing what he had lost.

"Call me Bobby, will you?"

"Alright" he said, "Call me – " he hesitated before continuing, "Cas".

He couldn't tell Bobby that Dean was still alive. He had promised. But he could let him call by the same name Dean had decided on.

It wasn't much, but it made him feel a bit better.

"Well then, Cas, how about I make us something to eat and you tell me about the case?"

It was against the rules, telling someone about the case. Since he had broken so many in the course of the last few days, Castiel couldn't bring himself to care.

He followed Bobby into the kitchen, his beer in hand. As he watched him place a pan on the stove and take ingredients out of the fridge, he couldn't help but wonder when he'd cooked for a guest the last time before this.

Maybe it had been for Dean.

There were bottles all over the house, but Castiel couldn't blame him. He was still grieving. Just like George Stevens.

The temptation was there. He could feel the words on the tip of his tongue, ready to spill out. He kept his mouth shut. Dean would be furious if he told Bobby. Bobby would be –

He tried to imagine what the hunter's reaction would be like. Would he be happy? Shocked? Hunters killed demons. But he wouldn't want to go after Dean, would he?

It was all too risky. So, even though he wanted to, Castiel didn't say anything as Bobby cooked, only quietly drank his beer.

He hadn't eaten all day and could feel it going to his head, so he put the bottle down and asked him if he needed help.

Bobby told him to set the table, and since Castiel had to clean it before and the hunter had to think for a moment where he kept more plates than the one he usually used and quickly rinsed before having dinner, his suspicions that he didn't have guests often were confirmed.

He hadn't known the man long, but it made him sad. He was polite, if a little abrupt, and he was lonely. If he had adopted Dean and his brother – at least unofficially – they must have been here often. He pictured a small Dean running around, perhaps chasing his younger sibling. A teenager, listening to loud music. A young man drinking beer with his father and working on the car – Impala, that's what it had been called, he remembered – his upper body all but disappearing under the hood, laughing at something his younger brother said. It made him smile.

"What are you smiling about?"

Bobby was standing by the stove, staring at him.

"Nothing. It just – I was reminded of someone".

"Family?"

Castiel, unwilling to lie to the man, said "It's complicated."

Bobby nodded understandingly, and only when Castiel turned around to finish setting the table did he realize what the hunter had believed he meant.

He blushed without reason, something that seemed to happen annoyingly often in the last few days, and concentrated on why he was here.

He didn't know what Bobby had cooked, and he didn't tell him, but there was a lot of meat and it tasted good. He remembered again that he hadn't eaten anything since he'd left the hotel and ate greedily.

A chuckle made him look up.

The smile the hunter wore made him look younger.

"You could try chewing, you know. You eat like – "

He blinked and turned his head to look out of the window, his smile dropping.

Castiel realized that they had barely talked about the threat that the ritual brought, but it didn't seem strange. Somehow, he felt comfortable around Bobby, and he thought that the other man felt the same.

He could have ignored his comment and spoken about the manuscript. Instead, he asked, "Your son?"

The silence that followed told him how stupid his question had been, and he was going to finally talk business when Bobby replied, "Yeah. Never could get his food down fast enough. Always wanted more than he could eat". He smiled again. "Haven't talked about him since – since it happened, really".

It was hard to lose someone and not being able to talk about it, he knew from experience. Gabriel hadn't died, but he had left, and Castiel had been too concerned for their father to try to talk about him. Their father hadn't mentioned him once. Castiel hadn't spoken to anyone about his brother since he had left – if one didn't count Balthazar, who he'd told one evening after an especially difficult case when they had been out and he had drunk a little too much. His friend had tried to mention the subject once, but had stopped when he realized Castiel didn't want to talk about it.

"What was he like?" he asked against his better judgement. They other things to focus on – but he couldn't resist the temptation to learn more about Dean. He only knew that he had been a hunter, that he liked beer, that he had a brother and that he had saved his life.

Bobby looked down on his plate. "Confident. Downright cocky. Could annoy the Hell out of you". He smiled fondly. "Loyal. Smart. Kind."

"It must have been difficult" Castiel said softly.

"It was worse for Sam" Bobby replied, apparently carelessly. He had obviously remembered that he was talking to a stranger, and it was unlikely that he would tell him more, Castiel registered with disappointment.

There was one thing he had been asking himself for a while, though.

"He was young, wasn't he, when he died?"

"Twenty-nine".

Dean looked like twenty-nine, or at least his body did. Hadn't he mentioned that he was using his own? Did this mean he was stuck forever at the age of twenty-nine?

"So, the ritual" Bobby said abruptly, taking away their plates and putting them in the sink, "Whoever's doing this isn't just any demon. Has to be a powerful one, and insane".

"It's risky".

"That's one word for it. Powerful spells can hurt the one who's casting them. He has to know exactly what he's doing."

"And if he succeeds – "

"Then we'll all have a problem".

Bobby looked at the page, now and then scribbling something on a notepad on his desk.

"There's three parts he has to complete. The first says is it necessary to kill ten of those who fight against darkness. And something about crosses – "

"Here" Castiel said, showing him the file he'd brought with him. "That should answer your questions".

He had never taken a file and showed it to anyone who wasn't allowed to see it.

Then again, he hadn't known about demons or hunters a few days ago.

Bobby took a look at the pictures. He grimaced.

"Sorry" Castiel said as a thought struck him, "I didn't ask you if you knew – "

"Met George Stevens once, years ago. Never met the others" he said. "That certainly answers my questions about the "turning inside out" part of the manuscript".

He carefully went through the pictures. "Clever demon, this Billy" he said. "Could get past the sigils".

"It might be they are trained to do so" Castiel answered. "This is important to whoever orders them to commit the killings. I'm sure he only takes the best".

"Great. Not just any demons, but trained demons." Bobby closed the file. "What made you suspect anything in the first place?"

He didn't use the suspicious tone of their conversation when Castiel had first entered the house, but the agent knew that much was at stake. He had to keep Bobby's trust.

"Like I said, my father was interested in the occult" he said, "and there were a few cases over the years – I eventually learned about the hunter community. I was satisfied to know that they were taking care of things outside my jurisdiction".

Bobby laughed. He noticed again that it made him look younger. Dean must have made him laugh often, he decided. Anyone who was spoken of with such fondness was sure to have done that.

"This case – I saw the pentagrams and the books." He shrugged. "It wasn't a difficult leap".

"No one's made the connection yet" Bobby said, frowning, pouring himself another glass of whiskey.

"They police have been very carefully what they reveal to the press. They don't want to risk mass hysteria because a serial killer is murdering people in their homes".

"No wonder no one caught it yet" he grumbled. "You people should be more willing to share information."

"Because that's what hunters do?"

Bobby said nothing.

They went over the text together, but couldn't make out much except that the second part seemed to be about throwing a town into chaos. Neither of them could say what this meant. Castiel thought about Dean telling him that he knew, and decided to call him as soon as possible.

As soon as he had left, because he was certain Bobby had his ears everywhere on his own ground.

He could have left the hunter to translate the manuscript and returned to working the case, or acting like he did, but Bobby offered him a bed for the night and he was too tired to say no. The older man seemed to like having him around, if because he had brought him the text or because he had been able to talk about Dean, he wasn't sure, and a few hours of sleep would do him good.

Soon enough, he was fast asleep in a guestroom.

* * *

He smiled when he saw the last light had gone out.

This was a special mission. The boss had told him to make a very nice display of the body.

The bodies. He had seen someone else through the windows, dark hair, suit. Why not take him out too. It wouldn't be any trouble.

But Singer – that would be pleasure.

His smile grew into a grin. Every demon had heard about Bobby Singer. He had been after them for so many years, and he had been like a father to the Winchesters.

If it weren't for Dean Winchester, he wouldn't have to die now.

If it weren't for Dean Winchester, everything would be easier.

The one time the hunter was supposed to be strong, and he broke too soon. He was supposed to be righteous, but he turned into something else the moment he was cut loose.

At least he got this kill out of it. Winchester was working for Crowley, so the boss wanted to send him a warning. Kill two birds with one stone and take another step towards completing the ritual while he was at it. Singer was perfect. Fighting against darkness and an old friend of the guy.

Winchester, really. Still holding on to his friends. Pitiful demon, just like he had been a pitiful human.

He would wait a little longer, to make sure they were asleep. Then he would slowly search for a weak spot in the protection. There had to be. There always was.

He could be patient. It would make everything sweeter.

* * *

Some patterns truly didn't change, Dean reflected, drinking another glass of whiskey in another bar. At least he wouldn't have to worry about the hangover tomorrow morning.

He had reached a dead end. Again. He could have called Cas, but there was a chance he was still with Bobby, and what if he greeted him with his name –

No, that wasn't it. He didn't want to hear Bobby's voice, or know that the agent was seated across from him. Damn feelings. Damn human feelings.

Sending someone to Bobby had been an impulse, and if he had learned anything about his impulses, it was that it normally didn't end well if he gave in to them.

He waved for another glass. He was even more frustrated than he'd been after he had told Cas where to find Bobby.

There were no leads, Crowley was away doing God knew what, Bela didn't have anything to tell him or she would show up –

He slammed his glass on the table when he realized, almost hard enough to break it, and ignored the reproachful look of the bartender.

He could hear Bela's words, clear as day.

_They say you're working for Crowley._

If only one demon who worked for the enemy had heard that –

They would want to send Dean a message.

Most likely by killing someone they knew he cared for. Killing him wouldn't be easy, and perhaps they hoped they could use him later once they'd taken over Earth.

Attacking someone else, though –

They'd want to keep working towards their goal, of course. Which meant Bobby was the more likely option.

And he'd sent Cas to him.

He disappeared, leaving the bartender to stare at the chair he'd been sitting in.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my birthday. To celebrate, I decided to upload two chapters. Want to mae a special day even more special? Tell me what you think!

He walked around the house, looking for a weak spot. There was sure to be one – a house this size couldn't be completely protected. There was always something, a small, apparently insignificant point from which one could work –

There. A small crack right over a window. If he could make it bigger, if it go down to the windowsill –

He'd have to change its directions. But that was easy enough.

Slowly, he began enlarging the crack, moving along the texture of the wall, making sure it was deep enough. It wasn't difficult, but time-consuming. He could have cracked the whole wall if he wanted to, but he didn't want to risk them hearing him.

He felt a presence behind him. For a moment, he thought Dean Winchester had found him, but then he heard whoever it was take a step towards him and there was only one who could walk like this – softly, and yet strongly, making your skin crawl.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded gruffly.

"Making sure everything goes smoothly" he answered, his voice impossibly soft and slimy. "This is important".

"I can take care of one hunter".

"You didn't sound so sure of yourself in Hell" he whispered.

It was what he always did, torturing even without a rack.

He turned around. Alastair grinned. The master torturer had been the right-hand man of their boss for quite some time. He was the only one who knew who their boss was. Only the demons who worked for him were aware of that, though.

There was a glint in his eyes, even stronger than when he watched souls bleed in Hell, and Daniel – his name was the only thing he knew about himself when he woke up downstairs so long ago, being tortured, aside from the fact that he was a demon – wondered if he was here not only to make sure he did everything right, but also because of Dean Winchester.

Not only had Alastair failed to make the Righteous Man take up a blade – which could have been seen as an accomplishment in a way, because his torture had broken Dean Winchester too fast, had caused him to enjoy torturing souls from the moment he took a knife in his hand, no longer righteous – but he also hadn't made a demon out of him.

There were demons that hadn't been created by Lucifer, but were forged out of human souls. Normally, one couldn't tell the difference between one like Daniel, who had come to life in Hell one day, and one who had been tortured until it broke and became a demon, joined a much better club, really. Dean Winchester though –

No one knew exactly what had happened. Alastair never spoke of it, and no one would ever ask. But from what one could piece together from gossip, one minute Dean Winchester, who had been a demon for years and it was believed had forgotten that he had ever been human, just like every soul that had been turned, was torturing his victims as usual, and the next he was gone.

That in itself wasn't unusual. Demons were gone once they had found their way out of Hell. Sure, it was a little strange that he had managed to slip past Alastair, but other than that, it had even been a satisfactory development. Every demon who knew anything had waited, waited for Dean Winchester to do something. He had been a hunter, a very good one, and he would make a great demon. Many had seen his work in Hell, others when he had still been human.

They expected great things.

What they didn't expect was _nothing_.

Dean Winchester was a great torturer, Alastair had made sure of that. He had never expressed remorse, he had seemed to enjoy his work, at least that was what the demons who had seen him said. He had never shown to possess any outstanding powers, but someone like him could easily wreak havoc if he chose to.

Alastair had created a demon that had fled.

There were many who were pleased by this, Daniel one of them. He didn't know why, but Alastair's face, the true face one could always see behind the meat suit, reminded him of Hell more than any other.

Fire. Blood. Pain. Screams.

It was almost like he could feel the hooks in his skin again.

He forced himself not to look away.

"Why don't you take care of Sam Winchester?" he asked. "I would think that was important too".

Alastair clenched his teeth, and Daniel realized that he had been forbidden to do so. He suppressed a smile.

"We have to focus on the ritual" he replied, his voice as smooth as always. "Sam Winchester quit. He won't be of any use to us".

And yet he wanted to go to him, Daniel thought happily. Alastair wanted to tear him to shreds because his brother had humiliated him, but he wasn't allowed.

If only Alastair wasn't here. The knowledge that he was angry would make his assignment even better. But now he had to take him with him.

"You are slow" Alastair remarked, and Daniel felt hot, strong anger surge through his borrowed veins.

"I didn't want to wake them".

Alastair smiled. He had obviously decided that Daniel would have to pay the price for his bad mood.

He had no knife, so he had to torture him through other means.

He probably wouldn't allow him to kill either of them, Daniel reflected darkly as Alastair continued to widen the crack, much quicker than he could have done.

He was surprised at his desire to kill Alastair as he watched him moving his hands. He had never felt this disgusted at another demon before. Something about the torturer, though –

The window sill cracked. The salt line in the house was broken. Before he could do anything, Alastair drew a knife out of his pocket.

There was no longer any anger in his eyes, only mirth.

"Shall we?" he asked quietly.

* * *

Castiel woke with a start. It was still dark outside, and he didn't think he had slept for long.

He was completely awake. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

Something wasn't right.

The impression was overwhelming.

He slipped out of the bed, as quietly as possible, and felt around for his gun. He was weirdly relieved to find it was still where he had left it, and he gripped the handle and drew it towards him.

He hesitated before taking the salt he had bought at a small shop halfway to Sioux Falls out of a pocket of his trench coat. He had felt silly at the time, and he still doubted that it would do much good, but he might as well take it with him.

He couldn't say what had woken him up. But he didn't just wake up like this, not unless he had a nightmare, and he would have remembered.

After he had opened the door a few inches, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he knew.

Someone was in the house.

There was a slight stir in the air, unlike the homely feeling that, despite the threat over their heads, he'd come to know this evening.

He gripped his gun tighter and moved out of the room. They had had an instructor on the academy once who had insisted that they had to know how to move noiselessly and had forced them to sneak up on him countless times. They had all hated him, Balthazar considering shooting him when he turned his back, but Castiel had found himself grateful for the lessons he'd drilled into him several times during his career, and this was another one of those times.

The guest bedroom was downstairs. He had heard Bobby walk up the stairs after he they had said goodnight.

It was dangerous to go up without having checked the rest of the rooms on the first floor or the basement. Whoever was in the house could easily cut him off. But Bobby was upstairs.

Castiel forced himself to walk up as slowly as possible. Every time he made a noise – and the stairs were old and prone to creaking – he waited with baited breath before he took another step. Bobby could be long dead when he found him, but he wouldn't be of any use to him if he was attacked before he reached him.

He had finally arrived at the top of the stairs when he heard it.

Or rather, them.

Two voices he hadn't heard before. They were coming from a room to his right.

One of them sounded normal enough, like countless suspects Castiel had interviewed.

The other –

The sound was muffled through the door, and yet it sent a shiver down his spine. It was smooth, too smooth.

He crawled forwards. Standing next to the door, he could understand what they were saying.

"Do we have to do this? We don't have much time, Alastair" the normal voice hissed.

"We have all the time we need" the other intruder answered. "No one's coming to look for the old drunk, and if they are, we'll deal with them. We can take it slow. Enjoy ourselves. I am sure you would want to hear about your boy, Bobby. How he screamed. How easily he broke. How I sliced and carved and diced him into a new animal – "

Bobby didn't answer, but Castiel had felt Dean's and Billy's powers. The hunter was unable to move.

At least he was still alive.

There were at least two demons. And one of them had tortured Dean in Hell.

His worry that he would tell Bobby what Dean had become, had already more or less done so, was quickly replaced by a blinding hate when he realized what the demon's words meant. He had tortured Dean.

Castiel resisted the temptation to barge into the room, but only just.

He needed a plan.

If he could separate them –

He was pondering this problem, and what he would do once he did, when he heard Alastair resume the conversation.

"If you think we should save time, go take care of the other one."

Castiel acted quickly, on impulse. He stood to the side of the door where the hinges were, so he would be hidden by it when the demon went into the hallway.

As soon as he saw his head, he threw the salt at him.

So far he had only seen demons who looked like humans except for their black eyes. The intruder did too. But the moment the salt touched his skin, he screamed, blisters appearing on his face.

Castiel briefly thought about the man he was possessing, but pushed the pity aside as he hit him on the head with his gun, stunning him, and pushed him aside, entering the room.

Bobby was pressed against a wall, not moving. Alastair was standing in the middle, smiling. He looked pleased that Castiel had come.

"I am glad you could join us" he said, advancing towards him.

Castiel knew it wouldn't do much good, but he still fired his gun. Alastair hadn't paralyzed him; maybe he didn't think it was necessary. Maybe he wanted to play with him.

The wound bled, but he wasn't affected much. It did make him slightly unsteady on his feet, however, and Castiel tackled him while pouring salt over his face.

Alastair didn't scream, his face didn't betray any discomfort, but Castiel knew he was hurting him, and the pleasure he felt at that knowledge would have shocked him in any other situation.

He grabbed Alastair's chin and forced his mouth open, dumping the rest of the salt in his throat.

Again the demon didn't make a sound but Castiel watched his mouth beginning to bleed.

He was yanked away from Alastair. Bobby could move again.

"Come on, you idjit".

He ran to a cupboard and threw it open. It contained an arsenal similar to the ones Castiel had seen at the victims' houses.

Bobby shoved a sawed-off shotgun into his hand and picked up one himself.

"Basement" he said before taking off with surprising agility, and Castiel followed.

At the door, he heard movement behind him and turned around, shooting a round into Alastair's shoulder.

This time there was no mistaking the pain in the demon's expression.

He ran into the hallway, the other demon conscious but writhing on the floor, a wound in his stomach.

Bobby waited for him at the top of the stairs.

Castiel rushed to meet him, and together they made their way downstairs, both of them looking back to see if they were followed.

Bobby followed a strange course, with twists and loops, and Castiel only realized they were walking through devil's traps and other sigils when he saw one painted on the ceiling.

Once they had reached the basement, Bobby pulled open an iron door and gestured for him to get in.

He didn't need to be told twice, and a few seconds later, the hunter had closed the door behind them.

"What – " Castiel began to ask, still trying to catch his breath.

Bobby had led him into something like a panic room. The walls were made of iron, there were many books about lore on the shelves, and he was certain the cupboards contained enough to sustain them for some time.

"No demon's gonna come in here" Bobby said, slapping his hand against the wall.

"How long – "

"A few weeks. Don't think it'll take this long, though. We have enough weapons here to blast them away".

He paused before continuing, "Thanks, kid."

"You're welcome" Castiel answered, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. "What do you think they'll do now?"

"Search the house. They'll find this room soon enough".

"And what then?"

"Capture them, if we can" Bobby said matter-of-factly. "One of them might be able to tell us what's going on." His face darkened. "And I wouldn't mind teaching the creepy one a few lessons in manners".

Castiel pretended to check his shotgun, but Bobby knew immediately.

"Did you hear?" he asked gruffly. "What he said about – what he said about Dean?"

"Yes".

Bobby said nothing. Castiel looked away, his gaze sweeping over the walls painted with symbol after symbol, and he wondered if the hunter had built the room after what had happened to Dean. What had made him go to Hell –

He suddenly realized that he had never thought twice about why Dean had gone to Hell. He knew, of course, why people were supposed to go to Hell. He knew that they had been wicked and were thought to deserve the punishment they got. But Dean had been a hunter. And even now there was something good in him, something that had made him safe Castiel. He couldn't have been damned because of things he had done. The agent felt sure of it.

"It wasn't like – he didn't deserve to go to Hell". Castiel was surprised at how defensive Bobby sounded. Everything – the demons who waited outside, the ritual they were trying to complete – seemed to lose its significance when compared to the reputation of Dean, the boy he had lost.

"He sold his soul to save his brother".

Castiel had quickly read over the page describing demon deals in one of the books he'd found, and he wished he'd gone through it more carefully. But it fit better with the image he had of Dean. He had sacrificed himself for his brother.

Bobby looked at him, a challenge in his eyes, but Castiel made no attempt to deny what he had said. He simply nodded.

Despite everything, Bobby seemed relieved.

"We better get to work" he said, opening a cupboard.

* * *

Dean told himself that it was stupid to get nostalgic, and yet his heart beat faster when he found himself at Singer's Salvage Yard.

He walked by the cars, carefully checking there was no demon nearby, being assaulted by images from times long ago; he and Sam, running around playing tag because Bobby had decided they should have a day off; fixing cars with him; a day a few weeks after Sam had left for Stanford, standing at his porch, feeling lost, Bobby hugging him and giving him a beer; the last attempt to save his life, Bobby there for him –

Dammit, he had to focus. The two would be dead if he didn't focus.

If they weren't already.

And it would all be his fault.

When he came to the house, he almost screamed when he realized he couldn't get through the front door. Damn Bobby and his security.

But this might mean they hadn't got in yet.

He searched the exterior of the house.

When he found the crack in the window sill, he cursed and made his way in, careful to dodge any trap that Bobby had laid out. He remembered how most of them were, and even if he didn't, he knew the old hunter well enough to find them before he stepped in.

If the broken devil's trap hadn't been enough of a clue, he would have known as soon as he had set foot into the house.

He could feel the other demons; two of them. That meant, of course, that they could feel him too.

He drew out the knife that Ruby had carried. If he was lucky, they'd think he was there to help them and he would be able to overpower them.

At least that was what he thought until he entered the hallway and heard one of them talking in the basement, telling the other one to see who had just arrived.

He would have recognized him anywhere.

His strange way of pronouncing things –

And just like that, he was back on the rack again.

_Daddy's little boy isn't as strong as he wanted to be. As strong as he should be. How does it feel, Dean, to disappoint him even after you are dead? After you are both dead?_

_He didn't cry. He never cried, never screamed. He was strong. He wasn't like you._

_I know you want to. I know you want to take that knife, to have it stop. I know you want to inflict pain. Take the offer. You have nothing to lose._

_Yes, that's it. Carve her up nice and slow. You will both be here for a long time. Make sure she feels it._

_Do you think you would care about her if you were still human?_

He wanted to rip Alastair to shreds, but controlled himself. He had to find Cas and Bobby. There was a chance they were still alive. The old man knew how to kick ass.

Maybe they had escaped? But running wouldn't do any good. Alastair never stopped once he had decided on his next victim. And Bobby wasn't one to run away from his own home.

The house was quiet, too quiet. Perhaps they were –

Dean walked into the living room and tried to understand the relief that swept through him when there were no bodies. He turned around and was in such haste that he almost missed a sigil. He could quickly change directions before he got stuck, but it was a reminder to be more careful. Bobby had made this place almost demon-proof.

Really, if he'd paid a little more attention to his walls –

Dean remembered where the guest bedroom was – he had spent more than one night there – and entered.

Cas had definitely slept there, and he hadn't had enough time to dress himself. Dean left, registering that he had put his trench coat over the chair in the same way he'd always hung up his jacket when he'd been too lazy to put it in the cupboard.

If they had escaped, Bobby was more likely to run into the basement then up the stairs.

Just as he was moving down the stairs, he heard a sound from the next floor and decided to check there first.

Bobby's bedroom door stood open; there was blood on the floor. Dean almost cursed as he took a few steps towards it.

He heard them talking.

"They have locked themselves in the basement. They will come out eventually".

He should have gone to the basement and checked on Cas and Bobby, but hearing this voice was too much and he barged into the room.

He came face to face with Alastair and another demon, whose face –

Dean knew this face.

He was the one who had made it into what it was. It had been one of the first souls to become a demon under his hands.

He had tortured him, hearing his screams, taking pleasure from them, from the blood that was running over his hands.

A faint echo of the self-loathing he had always carried around with him as a human came back to him.

The man – demon – didn't seem to remember him. Like so many, he believed he had woken up in Hell after being created.

Not to remember the demon who had sliced him into a new animal. It didn't sound bad.

Dean looked at Alastair. He wore the same grin he always had, downstairs, moving towards him with a new instrument in hand.

"Alastair".

"Dean. How nice to see you again."

"Glad to see you too" Dean replied, looking at Alastair's true face, the face that was grinning and sneering and threatening at the same time. He didn't know how he could see both the meat suit and the true face, but he would have preferred to have his human vision back. It was bad enough to see his own face when he saw into the mirror, let alone his torturer's.

He took out the knife.

Alastair eyed it.

"Really? No foreplay? No enjoyment? You disappoint me, Dean".

He had disappointed many people, but disappointing Alastair was a pleasure. He moved towards him.

The demon was gone and behind him in an instant.

He was thrown against the wall but managed to hold on to the knife. Alastair was stronger than him. And he didn't know if Bobby and Cas were still alive.

He should leave.

He didn't.

He launched at Alastair, ignoring the other demon. It was a mistake. He tackled him and tried to pry the knife from his grasp. Dean managed to turn them around, so that he was on top; he didn't know where Alastair was, but couldn't care at the moment.

He raised the knife and looked down on the demon.

Looked at the face that had been human when he had first laid eyes on it, before the man had screamed and screamed and he had cut and cut –

For a moment, he thought he wouldn't be able to do it. But then the thing under him snarled, and he saw the monster that this man had become, the monster that was just like Dean, and he would be the one to put it down.

He plunged the knife in his heart without hesitation.

He jumped up, but Alastair wasn't there, and he knew he had gone to the basement.

He rushed out.

* * *

"Alright, let's give them Hell".

Castiel nodded. They had decided to open the door. It was better than waiting.

Alastair was standing in front of them, but Bobby fired a shot before he could paralyze them. Castiel fired another round in his chest. The hunter had explained that they should take turns shooting him so that he didn't have time to use his powers.

They fired until they could see the demon's ribcage split open.

There was a noise, someone running, stopping, Cas thought he heard someone cursing.

Alastair looked down at the wounds before smiling at them, something evil in his gaze.

"See you".

White smoke went out of his mouth, and Alastair – no, the man he had possessed, fell down on the floor. He was dead.

Castiel kneeled beside him, swallowing. He had killed an innocent man.

"I'll take care of it" Bobby said. "Look after the other one".

He didn't want to leave him alone, but they didn't have much choice.

He quickly checked the first floor, then ran upstairs.

The first thing he saw was Dean, staring angrily at a devil's trap that had been painted on the ceiling.

"Dean?"

"Hey, Cas" he greeted him, far more calmly than his expression would have made the agent expect, "would you mind?"

He pointed at the devil's trap.

"Damn Bobby and his wards".

"There is another demon – " Castiel began.

"I killed him. Get me out of here. Before..."

Dean stopped and Castiel turned around.

Bobby was looking at the demon, clutching his shotgun. His knuckles where turning white.

"Dean?"


	12. Chapter 12

It were only Castiel's trained reflexes that prevented Dean from having to get a new shirt.

Bobby raised his shotgun, and the agent jumped, pulling it up as the shot rang out.

The shell buried itself in the ceiling, and Bobby punched him in the face. However, Castiel twisted around and managed to offset his balance.

He swiped Bobby's feet away from underneath the old hunter, and as he came back up, Castiel took him into a chokehold.

"Should've known" Bobby spat, struggling, but Castiel was too strong.

"Take it easy you two, would ya?" Dean asked, and the hunter's eyes flashed with anger as he looked at the demon once more. His anger made his efforts to get out even more frantic. He almost escaped before Castiel got hold of him again and, despite not wanting to do it, he chocked him harder.

When he heard Bobby gasping for breath, he said quietly, "I will let you go and you will stay calm. We will talk. I am stronger than you. Remember".

He felt the hunter nod and let go. Bobby immediately walked up to Dean, not even looking at the shotgun Castiel grabbed as soon as his hands were free.

His own was lying between Bobby and the trap, but he simply stepped over it, glaring at the demon.

Too quickly for the agent to do anything about it, he took out a flask of holy water and threw it into Dean's face.

"Big mistake" he said flatly as he did.

Castiel's stomach clenched when he saw the smoke and Dean wincing, his eyes turning black. It was the first time he had seen the demon hurt. And Dean had killed someone for him. Again.

Unless he wasn't telling the truth and had instead appeared to help their attackers.

It was a possibility. He had to consider it, even though he didn't want to.

He couldn't theorize. They had to talk. He opened his mouth to admonish Bobby and was surprised when the hunter turned around, his face betraying no emotions.

"I am calm. Don't worry, we're talking".

He didn't say anything until Castiel stood beside him.

"Who are you?"

Dean rolled his eyes.

"I'd have thought you'd remember me."

Bobby's eyes flashed dangerously.

"You are not Dean."

"What makes you sure? Ask Cas".

Bobby looked at the agent, raising an eyebrow.

Castiel was about to reply when he realized that he didn't have anything to say. He couldn't prove that this was Dean. He knew demons possessed people. They would be able to possess bodies to, naturally.

What if he had been lied to the whole time?

"Don't go doubting me now, man". Dean wagged a finger at him, his eyes still black, either unaware or not caring about the obvious discomfort this caused Bobby. "I already killed two guys for you". He paused. "That reminds me. Bobby, you should probably do something about the dead body in the next room."

The hunter stared at him suspiciously, but took Castiel's arm and dragged him to the door.

He could have twisted out of his grasp, but decided against it. Bobby obviously didn't trust him not to let Dean out while he was looking at the corpse – rightfully so, despite the possibility of Dean lying to him – and the agent simply shot the demon, who was standing in the trap looking bored, a look to assure him he would try to talk sense into Bobby.

Although why he should was another matter. What if this wasn't Dean Winchester, the former hunter who had sold his soul for his brother? What if this was some demon impersonating him and Castiel was helping him with the ritual? After all, "those who fight against darkness" could mean many things, and as an agent he had seen enough.

Bobby immediately went to the body. Castiel didn't recognize him, but that wasn't surprising. Just someone else Dean had considered better off dead than "being ridden by a demon". He swallowed.

There was a knife wound in his breast. Bobby looked up at him, frowning.

"Know what did this?"

"Dean's knife, probably" he replied, remembering Billy's death.

Bobby looked down at the corpse again.

"He has the knife?" When he realized Castiel didn't know what he was asking, he added, "That kills demons?"

He hadn't thought about it before, assuming that it was just another weapon hunters used, but nodded.

Bobby clenched his teeth and Castiel wondered if it was a proof for Dean's identity.

"What do you have to do with that demon?"

Castiel looked straight into the hunter's eyes.

"He sent me here. He wanted you to know about the murders – and to make sure you were safe."

He winced as if he had been slapped.

"Demons don't care".

"This one does" he argued.

Bobby eyed the corpse again, his hands balled into fists.

"He said "two guys". He kill anyone else?"

"A demon at a crime scene. I was there, and it attacked me. Dean arrived and saved me."

"Why?"

"I don't know".

Bobby chuckled humourlessly, and when he looked up, he looked older. He went back into the hallway wordlessly.

"The Impala" he demanded briskly when Castiel emerged behind him, "What's in its ashtray?"

Dean looked like he wanted to answer sarcastically, but as he stared in the hunter's face, Castiel saw a subtle change in his expression. The thin line that was his mouth relaxed, and he dropped his gaze.

When he looked up again, his eyes were green.

"Toy soldier" he replied angrily. "Sam crammed it in. Kept the damn thing every time I rebuilt her".

Bobby blinked, his hands now hanging limp at his sides. Castiel couldn't read his expression; there was pain there, and something like regret, but also – joy? It was difficult to tell.

"Dean?"

"I think we have established that I am Dean, yes".

The hunter ignored the sarcastic tone and answered, "Boy, you are – "

"A demon" Dean stated.

"You have the knife?"

Dean looked confused for a moment. Then he took a step back, his eye colour changing with a blink.

"And what if I did?"

Bobby was silent.

"Really? I come here to safe your asses and this is how you thank me?"

"It's what human you would have wanted" Bobby replied calmly.

"Human me is dead. Long gone".

The hunter flinched and Castiel resisted the impulse to lay a comforting hand on his arm. It wouldn't have been welcome.

"Let me out of here, we go our separate ways and you try not to get killed. Deal?"

"I don't make deals with demons."

"Can't say I blame you" Dean chuckled.

Bobby looked stricken. Maybe it was because of the deal Dean had made, but he took a step back and rubbed his face with his right hand. As he let it drop, Castiel saw that he was shaking.

"How about – " Bobby swallowed and began again. "I'm gonna need more info on the ritual. You'll have to stick around."

Dean shrugged. "I'll stay until you know everything I know".

Bobby extended a hand. "The knife".

"You really think I would give you something that could kill me?"

Bobby stared straight into the black orbs.

"Dean would".

Castiel saw the demon hesitate and was tempted to tell him not to do it. He realized that he was worried for him, which took him by surprise and prevented him from speaking out.

Dean took the knife out of his pocket and held it out to Bobby.

The hunter took it, and now, his hand was steady.

Castiel felt that he would raise it before he did and froze.

He had never frozen before, not when people had been in danger, not when a serial killer had had Balthazar at gunpoint.

But all he could do was watch, the only thought going round in his mind _He's going to kill him_.

Bobby was easy to strike, the knife pointed at Dean's heart –

His hand started shaking again and he dropped the knife.

"Damn it, boy" he grumbled. "I can't kill you".

Dean grinned.

"I was kinda counting on that. Now, would you?" He gestured towards the devil trap on the ceiling.

Bobby went to get a chair after picking up the knife and quickly climbed up, scratching away the paint.

Dean stepped out. "Thanks."

Boby grumbled something unintelligible and turned, walking down the stairs.

Castiel followed him with his eyes and turned to Dean.

"He's going to his study. And he needs a drink" the demon said matter-of-factly. "What happened to Alastair?"

Castiel was about to ask "Who?" but the expression on Dean's face stopped him. He was talking calmly, but was almost shaking with anger.

"We – we shot him with rock salt. Eventually he left the body."

"We'll have to get rid of them" Dean mused. "Wouldn't have thought you'd make it out alive".

"I know how to defend myself" Castiel replied indignantly.

Dean grinned. "Trust me, I saw. Putting Bobby into a chokehold – awesome". He winked.

Castiel didn't find any humour in the situation. He liked Bobby, and he thought the hunter had liked him too. Before he knew he'd lied to him and helped a demon. A demon that had saved his life, but still.

A nudge on his shoulder made him look up.

"Cheer up. We're still alive." Dean seemed to think about what he had just said, then added, "In a way".

He couldn't help the smile that spread over his face.

Dean grinned at him once more and then walked down the stairs, carefully avoiding the wards. The agent was impressed. He would have believed it impossible to escape Bobby's grasp.

Dean felt Castiel's gaze and explained without turning around, "I spent a lot of time here. I could get through these traps in my sleep."

"Except when you get stuck" he replied.

Dean didn't answer until they were almost at the door of the study, and then he pressed the words out, "I was in a hurry".

Castiel couldn't explain the warm feeling that spread through him at the demon's words.

Bobby was reading the manuscript again.

"Dean" he called. "Come here. Need your help".

Dean stepped forward, and Castiel noticed he turned his eyes back to green before coming to stand beside the hunter. He must still like Bobby, even after his time in Hell.

The hunter asked a question about an obscure word that Dean answered with an elaborate explanation that Castiel didn't really understand, but it was nice seeing them working together. It seemed comfortable, the way they looked at the manuscript, Dean making suggestions and Bobby shaking or nodding his head, or the other way round, both of them focused on the task.

The atmosphere only changed when Dean reached for the ritual and touched Bobby's hand that the hunter flinched and the demon took a step back.

Castiel could have sworn he looked hurt.

Bobby had noticed the look too and apparently was debating whether or not he should apologize when Dean continued talking like nothing had happened, although he kept his distance this time.

Castiel felt like he had no right to be here. He was intruding upon a private moment, Bobby and Dean becoming reacquainted, with all setbacks that were to be expected.

He left the room without either of them noticing. He wanted to call Balthazar when he realized the sun hadn't risen yet.

He decided he might as well start to clean up and began to search for the room the demons had broken into.

He found it quickly enough, a crack breaking the salt line on the windowsill, the trap broken.

There was salt in the kitchen and paint in the foyer; he collected both without either of them noticing him and made sure the house was protected.

Then he went to collect the bodies.

He carried Alastair's up the stairs first, leaving it in the hallway and fetching the other man. It wasn't easy, but he hadn't trained Martial Arts and gone to the gym for years for nothing.

"What shall we do with the bodies?" he asked, entering the study. Dean and Bobby had moved closer to each other again, and the demon held a glass of in his hand, which Castiel registered with a smile.

They looked up from their debate about a certain word.

"Almost forgot about those" Bobby said, "Let's get them – "

"They're in the hallway".

"You're not as scrawny as you look".

Castiel glared at Dean. "I'm an agent. I train. I can take care of myself."

"And of the bodies, apparently". Bobby stood up.

"I made sure the house was protected as well".

"We gotta take you on more hunts, Cas" the hunter said as he went into the hallway, and Dean shot him a look.

"You introduced yourself as Cas?"

"It might be my usual nickname".

"I saw the way you stared when I told you I was gonna call you that. It isn't".

With a cheeky grin, Dean walked past him. Castiel rolled his eyes and followed him.

Bobby was standing in front of the corpses.

"Bury or burn?" Dean inquired.

"Bury 'em in the yard" Bobby answered. "Burning them would attract attention ,and I'm not driving around with bodies in my trunk until I find a quiet spot".

Burying the bodies took very little time, since the hunter had a bulldozer.

When they returned to the house, sweaty but satisfied that no one would notice that they had hidden corpses in the Yard, Dean chuckled.

"What?" Castiel asked.

"You have – "

Instead of continuing, Dean motioned towards his cheek, and for a crazy second, Cas thought he would clean off the dirt that must obviously be there, but he simply waited until he did it himself and nodded.

"All gone. Now, back to the problem at hand."

Castiel walked beside him to the study.

"Come here, you idjits. End of the world, might as well know what's happening."

Dean and Cas sat down in front of the desk.

"The "fighting against evil" thing I get" Bobby began. "I'll put out the words that hunters should look after themselves. Course, they might just start killing anyone who takes down bad guys."

And they couldn't protect everyone. It was likely that they would complete the part of the ritual soon enough.

"What about the demon who's behind this?" Bobby asked, looking at Dean.

Dean sighed. "Word is, Alastair knows him. Other than that... They all just follow blindly. Promises of a golden world and all that. Demons are stupid".

"Lilith?"

Dean shook his head.

"Bitch who held my contract" he explained to Castiel. "Can't be here."

"You sure?"

"She's long gone".

There was only one way to interpret Dean's words and expression, and Castiel watched as a flash of satisfaction passed across Bobby's face.

"Any other big players out there?"

"It's not Crowley" Dean replied, "and I can't think of anyone else. Not many who have the brains to do it. Most are still waiting for Lucifer to rise".

"Lucifer exists?"

"They seem to think so. They are waiting for the day he escapes and kills Michael."

"About that..." Bobby trailed off, his eyes on the manuscript.

"No" Dean said firmly. "This isn't gonna start the Apocalypse. Even if they managed to break the first seal – "

He stopped and bit his lip before continuing, "Lilith was the last. The Apocalypse isn't going to happen".

Castiel hadn't understood everything Dean had said, but he had once more conformed that they didn't have to worry about the Apocalypse. If only they knew what the rest of the ritual entailed.

"What about the second paragraph? "Throwing a city into chaos", I believe" he said.

Bobby shrugged. "Could be anything, for all we know". He poured himself another glass, refilled Dean's automatically.

Then he said nothing as both of them looked at Castiel, and he nodded. They had buried bodies together, he wasn't above drinking whiskey with them, even though the sun was only just rising.

The burning was welcome in his throat.

"The sentence could mean anything" he said, looking at the whiskey swirling in his glass. "From riots over the infrastructure breaking down – "

"Doesn't even have to be that" Dean said. "We once saw a town where it was enough to put hookers and booze in there. Demon told me you only have to point humans the way and they'll walk into Hell with big smiles on their faces".

He wanted to ask whether he had met that demon in Hell, but decided against it. Instead, he said, "And you believe that?"

"I've seen it myself."

It was the first time he had mentioned being in Hell, being a demon since he and Bobby had started working on the manuscript, and the hunter grabbed the bottle for a refill.

It must be difficult for him. Castiel had met Dean when he was already a demon, but Bobby saw the boy he had brought up, the man he had considered one of the best hunters there had ever been, and what had become of him.

It was impressive that he even let him free. Castiel could only explain with the affection he held for Dean.

And, after he had watched them for hours, he had concluded that Dean still carried that same affection for the hunter. He would deny it, if his reluctance to explain why he wanted Castiel to warn him was anything to go by. But it was obvious that he still cared a lot for Bobby.

Seeing him with his adoptive father made Castiel realize how lucky he had been. If he had met any other demon at the crime scene, if he had run into the killer, he would be dead by now. And a normal demon wouldn't have bothered to rescue him.

Then again, he assumed not any demon had gone to Hell because he had sold his soul for his brother.

"You alright there, Cas?"

"I'm fine" he said, faking a cough to hide his embarrassment. He hadn't listened to a word that had been said in the last few minutes.

He stood up. "I just realized I have to call a colleague" he said. It was partly true; the sun had risen hours ago and Balthazar would be expecting his call. Castiel didn't know what to tell him, but he would think of something.

Balthazar didn't ask where he had been or what he had done, but there was something in his voice that told Castiel he would have to explain once he returned. Also, his colleague seemed to expect him sooner rather than later, so he reluctantly told him he was on his way and hung up.

"You have to leave?" Dean asked casually when he entered the study. Castiel didn't know why he felt the need to defend himself, but he did.

"I have to return eventually" he said. "I have to do my job".

"This is more important than your little job".

"I am a – "

"Stop it" Bobby interrupted. "Of course you gotta go back. Might be useful to hear how the investigation's going. Plus, if there are more murders – the press is gonna have a field day. And there's more than one way to "throw a town into chaos"".

Mass panic created by mass murder was certainly one of them. Castiel nodded.

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes, but he had the feeling it was more for show than anything else.

"Fine. You go, Agent Coop. We're gonna do useful stuff".

"I don't understand that reference" Castiel said, but Dean just laughed and said nothing.

It was easy to forget that he was a demon, Castiel decided as he packed his things. At times, he was angry, ferocious, didn't seem human, like when he backed him against the wall, warning him not to summon him again. But sitting next to Bobby, glass in his hand, laughing, he looked so incredibly human that it seemed incredible that he had gone through Hell.

Castiel didn't know what to make of Dean Winchester. He wasn't a typical demon, and he suspected that he hadn't been a typical human either. He was curious to know more about him, his relationship with his brother, but he wouldn't like the questions, Castiel was sure.

He went into the study to say goodbye. Bobby stood up and shook his hand.

"Don't be a stranger. Anything weird, you call, alright?"

He nodded. "You'll keep me informed?"

"Course. Owe you that much, don't I?"

Castiel might have been modest, but he was too honest to tell Bobby that he hadn't saved his life. They had saved each other, really; if the hunter hadn't dragged him down in the cellar, Alastair would have won eventually.

Dean was looking at Bobby.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean your agent did what you sent him for" Bobby said, and even though there was a slight trace of sarcasm in his voice and it was clear that, while he trusted Dean in a way, he was still wary because he was a demon, Castiel took it for what it was, the only thank you the former hunter would get. Dean understood too. He nodded.

Dean followed him out to his car, which surprised Castiel.

"Listen..." the demon said, the coughed. He looked anywhere but at Castiel, and he felt reminded of the morning – was it really only yesterday? – that Dean had appeared in his hotel room and asked him to warn the hunter. He'd looked equally uncomfortable.

"Thank you" he pressed out.

Castiel waited until he looked at him, his eyes black.

"I was doing my job" he said.

"Ganking demons and saving hunters is part of being a fed? I missed my calling".

"You know what I mean" Castiel replied and only then realized that they were teasing each other, in a way that seemed familiar even though they had known each other for little more than a week.

Dean cleared his throat. "Still, man – thanks."

"Don't mention it" he said softly. When he wanted to get in the car, Dean gripped his arm and turned him around, and suddenly they were standing very close to each other. Since Castiel had been accused of having no sense of personal space quite often in the past, he had made a point to keep a respectable distance from everyone at all times, and he felt distinctly that he shouldn't stand so close that he could count the shades of green in Dean's once more human eyes.

Dean noticed too, and took a step back.

"Listen, you need to be careful" he said bluntly. "Alastair escaped, so they know what you look like. And they might have me under surveillance, you never know. Salt a room before spending a night in it. Carry a bottle of holy water".

Castiel nodded.

"Also – " Dean fished something out of his pocket. When he put it into Castiel's hand, he saw that it was a necklace with one of the symbols he recognized from the books he'd read as a pendant.

"Keeps you from being possessed" Dean explained, and Castiel raised his hand to thank him.

In the next moment, he was wiping water out of his eyes.

"Had to make sure" Dean said, sounding cheerful.

"Bobby already checked" Castiel replied, blinking.

"Demons are sneaky. Put the necklace on".

Castiel felt silly as he arranged it so that he was wearing it underneath his shirt, but Dean was right. He had to be careful.

Once he had hidden it, feeling the coldness of the pendant against his skin, Dean fixed his tie.

"How do you manage to get that thing always so crooked?"

Castiel swallowed and found himself unable to answer.

He left without saying much, simply thanking Dean for the necklace again and the demon confirming Bobby's promise that they would call him in case of new developments.

The pendant felt heavy around his neck as he pulled away. For the first time, he wondered if he had got himself into something that was bigger than he could handle.


	13. Chapter 13

Dean turned around as soon as the car started moving. There was no reason to watch Cas drive away. The time he had made a fuss about humans was long gone.

He entered the house, having made sure that he could do so without being caught. While he was there, no demon would attack, and Bobby would make the place secure once more after he had left. He'd be gone before sundown. This place had been as close to home as he had ever known in his life, but it wasn't anymore.

He had seen Cas' looks, his shy smiles, and knew the agent believed that they had had a family reunion, that he and Bobby were fine.

It wasn't true. He knew the hunter felt disgusted when he came near. His flinch had been enough to prove that. For some reason, he seemed more comfortable when Cas was around. As if the agent would have been a match for a demon.

Still, Dean had to give him credit. He had fought against Alastair and the –

He had managed not to think about the body they had buried alongside Alastair's meat suit. Apart from his own, and Bela's, it was the first demon face he had seen that he had known when it was still human, when there was still light in its soul, when it wasn't twisted, corrupted. His and Bela's faces weren't half as repulsive. Not because they were pretty – far from it – but they had already been halfway there, more or less serial killers, liars, the darkness had already begun to swallow them long before they made their way downstairs.

But this man –

Toby, he remembered, unbidden, without making a conscious effort, Toby Dawns.

He had told him his name, screamed it at him, maybe in an attempt to awake his pity. Pity. It was one of the first feelings that was burned away in Hell.

It had felt so good, to slice when he had been on the other side of the knife for so long. He hadn't cared that these were humans, that some were on the rack because they had traded their soul for similar reasons than he had. As long as he could keep slicing, as long as the blood ran over his hands, as long as their screams filled his ears, he was glad. He had felt the burning in him, the burning that took away a part of his humanity every time he raised the knife, but he hadn't stopped to think about it. It felt good to lose his humanity. Humanity brought nothing but pain. His human life was over.

And he had known that before he began to torture Toby. Why did he think of him as a man now, when in Hell he hadn't paid any attention? Why did he suddenly remember others, why could he suddenly distinguish faces in his memories when before there had only been screams and the same taste of blood? It didn't make any sense.

"Where are you?"

Bobby's voice didn't sound like it had when he was human, when the hunter only wanted to know where Dean was so he could be sure he was okay or because he wanted to offer him a beer. There was mistrust there, because Dean was a demon, had nothing to do in this house where a little boy had once run after his younger brother, the two laughing...

His hands clenched into fists, but he forced himself to relax before he entered as provocatively slowly as he could. He might as well act like a demon, like he didn't give a crap. Bobby didn't have to know it mattered to him.

"Don't worry, I didn't steal anything".

Bobby shot him a weary look, another glass in his hand. Dean strode over to the desk, taking the manuscript.

"We could get a copy. You ask whoever pops into your mind, and I go my own way. There are enough trees I could shake".

Bobby, who had moved back when Dean grabbed the ritual stepped forward.

"You don't have to – "

"Come on. Cas is gone. You don't have to pretend" Dean said briskly. He was angry that Bobby had to pretend; he was angry that he was angry about it.

"Don't think I didn't see ya wishing you could use that knife. Now give it back. I have a few other demons to gank" he added.

"Dean..." Bobby didn't take the knife out of the drawer he'd put it in. Dean could easily have taken it, but he wanted the hunter to give it to him voluntarily, no matter how stupid it was to wish such a thing. It didn't make a difference. Neither did the strange happiness he felt when Bobby referred to him by his first name.

"Cas said you saved him" Bobby continued.

"You mean before I dropped in to help him and your sorry ass? Yes, I did".  
"You didn't have to do that".

"What was I supposed to do?" he asked hotly. Bobby looked at him, just looked at him, the way he had always looked at him when he'd told him he was fine even though he wasn't. Only then did he realize that he had talked like the man he had used to be, not like the demon he was now.

He cleared his throat. "I was investigating, and he happened to come in the way. Saved him because I wanted to kill Billy anyway. No big deal".

"And who was Billy?"

"The killer" Dean replied matter-of-factly.

"So you killed the one guy who could have led you to the one pulling the strings? Don't try to play me, boy. I know how demons think".

"You shouldn't have let me in then" Dean said.

Bobby chuckled. It was such an unexpected response that Dean didn't say anything, simply waited for him to continue.

"Even Hell couldn't get you to shut up" he said fondly. "And I – I'd be lying if I said I hadn't wanted you back".

Dean looked around the room, noticed the empty bottles. He hadn't paid attention to them before.

That was strange. Bobby might drink, but he never let bottles standing around. He kept a clean house, or rather an organized chaos. So why did it look like he robbed a liquor store?

"The last few years haven't exactly been easy" the hunter said, and Dean looked at him again. Bobby didn't take a step towards him, but he relaxed.

Dean wondered why it gave him a stab to think about Bobby alone, drinking. They had been like family once, but that was long gone. Hundreds of years burning stood between them.

Apparently it didn't matter.

He looked at the bottles again, some of them dusty.

"Don't. I hear enough of that from Sam".

It was the first time either of them had mentioned the name, and Dean tensed.

"You planning on calling him?"

"No. He got out. He should stay where he is".

"He'd want to know you're back".

"I'm a demon. He wouldn't want to know that" Dean said.

He expected Bobby to continue to argue, he expected to have to say no again and again. It wasn't like he hadn't thought about it, like he hadn't wanted to knock on his door every time he checked up on Sam. But it wasn't possible. He shouldn't see what his brother had become. He should stay safe.

Bobby didn't say Sam's again; he didn't insist that Dean should tell him that he had returned; instead, he looked at him, poured himself another glass and motioned for him to do the same.

The burning was welcome, even if the alcohol didn't affect him.

"So, you and Cas..." Bobby began unexpectedly. Dean felt strangely possessive when he heard the hunter referring to the agent by the nickname he had given him.

"You said he came in the way? How did you meet, exactly?"

Dean tried to find out why the question made an echo, a remembrance of a feeling long lost reappear in his breast, but then he simply answered, "He was stupid. Decided to look at a crime scene at night. I was there, knocked him unconscious. He did it at another crime scene, killer caught him, I saved him."

"And now he's helping you" Bobby stated. Dean shrugged.

"I didn't force him to. I can't get rid of him".

"He's good" the hunter said. "There aren't many who'd attack a demon and walk to tell the tale."

"Yeah, he ain't bad" Dean replied, recalling Cas holding back Bobby. It had been quite hilarious.

Bobby's eyes narrowed. "I can tell what you're thinking, boy. Stop".

"Make me" he shot back, and the smile Bobby gave him made him feel better against his will. It was nice here. Easy. It shouldn't have been, but it was.

"At least we got the law on our side" Bobby mused. "That's a first".

"Tell me about it". Dean refilled his glass. There was something Bobby wasn't saying. He always knew. He'd met the man when he'd been under ten years old, and he knew his every mood.

As a human, he would have been worried. As a demon, even though he hadn't got rid of certain emotions, he couldn't have cared less.

"I watched your goodbye" he said gruffly. "You two – "

It didn't surprise him that Bobby knew. The days that knowledge would have bothered him were long gone.

"You think I would damn a FBI agent? Bobby, I'm hurt".

He could see that the man was surprised at his reaction and shook his head.

"There's nothing".

He grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "You might wanna tell him that" and concentrated on the ritual again.

They didn't make much progress. Dean had learned many things during his time in Hell, most of which would have made Bobby take out the knife on the spot, but translating strange Latin texts wasn't one of them. He should have known the hunter wouldn't be much help. In fact he had known – if Crowley couldn't translate it, why should Bobby.

He was still here, though, here for reasons he didn't dare admit to himself, damn it, and so he debated the meaning of several words with the old drunk for a few hours.

Things were going good. Great, in fact. And then Bobby had to talk about stuff again.

"You said you killed Lilith" he began. They had been pouring over the text, and Dean had convinced himself that he wouldn't have to answer any more questions. Of course his luck hadn't changed, not even Hell could do that.

He didn't like remembering Hell. There was a reason it was called Hell. He remembered the smell of his skin as it was cut off, the heat, the pain. He remembered the joy he had felt slicing. And he remembered killing Lilith. It had been easy.

_He was a demon, and he deserved to be here, but he also wanted to escape. He'd been looking for a way out for years now._

_He enjoyed torturing, and he was starting to think that he had been born to do it, but he knew what he would do when he got out: Nothing. He would possess some guy who was just as unimportant as he had been, and he would enjoy himself. If he ever got out._

_He looked down at the face that would soon cease to be human indifferently, driving the knife in what was left of the man's arm. He screamed, and Dean enjoyed the blood that came sizzling out, almost evaporating in the heat._

_And then there was a voice in his ear. He stopped torturing, surprised. Demons could make contact with other demons, but they had to be pretty powerful to do it, so he was immediately listening attentively._

I can help you _, the voice said._ We can help each other.

_He thought it sounded pretty slimy, and when he actually met Crowley, he would decide that his first impression had been right, but then he didn't think much about it._

_Especially not when he was told that he would have to do something to get out of Hell, and that something would be to kill Lilith._

_He had wanted to gank the bitch since he had first heard her name._

_So when the knife was put in his hand, he didn't hesitate._

_He had been told where to find her._

_The voice had told him, the voice he was pretty sure belonged to Crowley. He hadn't met him, but he had heard about the King of the Crossroads. He knew it was better to be on his good side. And if he could get him out of here, he would do what he was told, at least until he had clawed his way out of Hell. And even if he couldn't help him, he could kill Lilith. Bitch deserved to die._

_She rarely joined others in torture or did it herself. Few had ever laid eyes on her. If demons had priestesses, she was it. Waiting for Lucifer to return._

_He could stay where he was, according to Dean. The Apocalpyse was not something he wanted to see. Paradise for demons – he'd have to be much more stupid than he was to believe that._

_He went through shadows and pain and flames and blood, making sure no one saw him, the movement coming as easy to him as it always had when he had been alive, even though it had been hundreds of years since he had last done something like it._

_The memory of him and Sam breaking into a house invaded his mind, and he pushed it away like he did with every feeling, every reminder of what had once been. It was over. What counted now was to get Lilith._

_She was where he had been told she would be. She wasn't alone. Dean almost cursed when he recognized Asmod, one of Alastair's head torturers._

_He was one of them himself, but that didn't mean he had to like them. Quite the opposite. When Alastair had got bored of his screams, it had been Asmod to take up the knife._

_He felt hate course through him, amplified by the darkness that had turned his soul into what it was now, and would have attacked if he hadn't heard his name._

Dean Winchester has failed. What now?

_He grinned. Whatever he had failed them at, it was sure to be a good thing that he had. True, he didn't much care for anything that was going on, but it was good to see Asmod angry._

Have faith. There will be another Righteous Man.

And if he breaks as well, if he isn't Righteous anymore, by the time he takes the knife?

_Pain that had nothing to do with torture shot through him, a pain he couldn't understand. It was as if his lost humanity had come back to him, to taunt him with what he had done._

_He attacked._

_Asmod died, the knife in his throat and fear in his eyes, and Dean revelled in it. He turned to Lilith._

_She stood in front of him and her eyes followed the knife._

_There was no fear in her eyes, but she was on her guard. He couldn't surprise her like he had Asmod, and she was one of the most powerful demons in Hell; according to the legends, she was the first Lucifer had created._

_He shouldn't have barged in, but he was still so angry, fury coursing through his veins, making it difficult to think._

_He attacked. She dodged him and reached for the knife. He managed to evade her, but she raised her hand and pain shot through him, the pain of a thousand torture sessions._

_It should have paralyzed him, and Lilith was counting on it, her posture relaxing._

_But there was still that pain in him that was different from the one he had felt on the rack, and it caused him to propel towards her once more._

_This time, she wasn't quick enough._

_She died without a sound, and Dean quickly left. Most demons respected Lilith, he didn't want to know what they would do to the one who had killed her._

_He was back at the rack, tearing, twisting, corrupting, trying to forget the words about the Righteous Man._

_He didn't know how much time had passed, it could have been days or weeks or years later, only the faces under his hands changed, and he was still torturing, still –_

_The voice spoke to him again, told him of a way out of Hell, and he let the instruments go and went, blindly, without thinking._

_He only realized what had happened when he saw the sky he hadn't seen in hundreds of years. It was night. He could see the stars._

_Then he became aware that he didn't have a body. In Hell, it hadn't mattered; the soul kept the form it was used to before changing. Now, he was a dark cloud, and he moved forward._

_He had to find a meat suit, he realized. He didn't know where he was, but it wouldn't be difficult to find someone._

_There was a town a few miles from where he appeared, and he floated into the next bar. He stayed near the ceiling as he surveyed the people and found a man alone, drinking. Probably after a break-up, considering he downed three whiskeys in the time Dean watched him._

_Emotions all over the place. Perfect._

_He waited until the man left, then in a dark street he decided it was time and entered him._

_It was a strange feeling, but he subdued the man's soul, knocking him out. It wasn't fun being ridden by a demon, no need to torture the guy._

_He noticed the irony of what he had thought. He quickly went through the guy's pockets and found his wallet. In it, there were a few pictures of him and his family, and it brought out a feeling he had been sure had burned away long ago; it might have been something like regret._

_He wouldn't keep him long anyway. He had to cover his tracks, and he had to find –_

" _A pleasure to finally meet you, Dean"._

_He turned around to find a middle-aged man in a suit, smiling at him. His soul had the colour of the crossroads demons, and it wasn't difficult to connect the dots._

" _Crowley"._

_He knew him to be King of the Crossroads and a powerful demon, but he had the knife. He mustered him unconcerned._

" _I see you made your way out" the demon said. "And you already found a meat suit. But maybe you would prefer something a little more familiar?"_

" _What do you mean?"_

_Crowley shook his head mockingly. "If you wanted to use your own body, of course"._

_He was sure that he had been in Hell for over three hundred years, even though after a while everything had blurred together and the passage of time had only meant a new victim. He knew that one month on Earth meant ten years in Hell._

" _I don't think walking around as a zombie would be a good idea" he snarled._

_Crowley smiled._

" _You underestimate me. When I am after a deal, I offer something of worth. Your body is all ready for you, as young and good-looking as the day you were torn apart by the Hell hounds"._

" _What do you want for it?" Dean asked suspiciously._

" _It's less of a deal, and more a... partnership of sorts" Crowley explained, using his hands to accentuate his words._

" _And why would I want that?"_

" _Because Lucifer isn't going to rise" Crowley said. "The Apocalypse didn't work out, and now we're all free to do what we want. And I want the throne"._

" _So you want to be the new Sheriff downstairs and expect me to help you?"_

" _Well, you already killed Lilith, which makes things easier for me" the other demon explained, "and trust me: You'd rather have me there than anyone else. I'm a business man, Dean. I know when to uphold the equilibrium, and that's more important than anything right now. You help me, you get your body and you can keep the knife. So what do you say?"_

_Dean didn't have to think long. He didn't have anywhere to go. Sam crossed his mind briefly, but he wouldn't like what he saw. He wanted the big brother that had gone to Hell, not the demon that had crawled out of it. And if there really was going to be war in Hell – and it seemed likely, since the Apocalypse wasn't coming, he remembered Asmod's and Lilith's conversation – why not choose a side. He was one of them now. And Crowley had helped him out, for whatever reason._

" _Alright" he said._

_In the next moment, they were in Crowley's mansion. His body lay on a table, looking as good as the demon had promised. Dean happily left the man, who slumped to the floor, and entered._

_It felt good, being back in his body, and he knew instinctively that no one would be able to exorcise him. He and his body belonged together; he wasn't possessing anyone. At least he didn't have to worry about anyone sending him back._

_Before Crowley could do anything like kill the guy, he dumped him back where he found him. He was gone less than a few seconds._

_Crowley raised an eyebrow._

" _There are better ways to cover your tracks"._

_Dean didn't answer him._

" _This – partnership. What does it entail?"_

_Crowley smiled. "We have to know who the competition is. We need to eliminate them."_

_Dean nodded. "And how do we find out who it is?"_

" _I know most" Crowley replied. "Lilith was a strong opponent, and Alastair isn't as uninterested as he looks"._

_Dean felt anticipation build in him. If this got him to kill Alastair, he was more than happy to have taken up Crowley's offer._

" _Alastair, though, isn't our problems. Nor are the other ones. I am smarter than any of these idiots. But there's one – No one knows how he is. But there are demons in Hell whispering about someone strong, someone who wants the Throne, who will do anything to turn Hell into a Paradise."_

" _And how do we find out who it is? Kidnap demons?"_

" _I was thinking more along the lines of espionage"._

_Dean laughed. "You got the wrong partner. I ain't going back there. Everyone knows who I am"._

" _I would say you are full of yourself, but you are right. Too many demons know your story. We'll find an agent eventually, and when we know who it is, then it's your turn. You're good at killing"._

_Dean knew he was right. And Crowley wanted him to kill a demon. He could do that. He had ganked Lilith, he would gank Alastair, and whoever it was that wanted to take over Hell, it wouldn't be that difficult. It was what he had done his whole life._

_He went over Crowley's words and immediately thought of something. Or rather, someone._

" _You said you needed an agent."_

_Crowley raised an eyebrow._

" _You have anyone in mind?"_

_There was indeed someone who should still be in Hell._

" _Bela Talbot" he answered. He had hated her for a long time, but after seeing her in Hell during one of his attempts to get out, after cutting her down, it had become more difficult._

" _She's good. Don't know where she is"._

_Crowley hummed. "It won't be difficult to find her. I found you"._

_Dean wanted to ask how, but felt that it wasn't the right question to ask._

_Two days later, Bela was looking for evidence in Hell. While she was doing it, Crowley's minions began to kidnap other demons, demons who weren't important but might have heard something. They couldn't risk taking those that ran the recruitment drive because they knew nothing about the demon behind this, how powerful he was, and Crowley was careful. It didn't matter to Dean, who tortured to find out what they knew._

_As it turned out, they knew nothing._

_A few months into this, the killings started._


	14. Chapter 14

"Dean?"

He realized he hadn't spoken for several minutes, too caught up in the memory, of a time when he would never have believed he would ever sit in Bobby's house again, drinking with him. He held the glass, felt the coolness of the drink seep into his skin.

"It's nothing" he said. Of course Bobby didn't believe him. But he didn't say anything.

They were silent for a moment. The ritual lay on the table.

Dean thought about Cas for no reason. He wondered how far he had come. Not far yet. Not that it mattered. The attack had put him on the demons' radar. They had to be careful. He would call him, let him know what was going on, he would keep the police and his colleagues of their backs. That was all.

That was all, he repeated to himself. So Cas was good-looking, no reason to be bummed about not seeing him again.

Bobby was watching him slyly. If only the old guy didn't know him so well.

"We still don't know what the third part is" Dean said. "Maybe the one who's behind it doesn't either".

"Must be a powerful demon. Maybe he does".

He couldn't argue with that.

Hell on Earth – if the demon could break the code, it would mean Hell on Earth. Dean had crawled out of there for a reason. It wasn't going to happen.

"I have a few trees I could shake" Bobby said, and he smiled at him.

"I'll try to find the murderer. Maybe he can lead us to the guy".

He should go. There was no reason for him to stay. Yet he lingered, drinking another glass, then another, before he stood up and told Bobby that he had to leave.

The hunter nodded. He pulled the knife out and laid it on his desk, where Dean snatched it up.

Dean was halfway out of the door – he wouldn't risk teleporting in this house, no one knew what protection Bobby had set up – when he remembered.

He turned around.

"Don't call him".

He could see the arguments forming in Bobby's brain and shook his head. "He got out. Let him".

"Fine" Bobby grumbled, "but when he finds out and he will you're the one explaining why you didn't come to see him".

"He doesn't have to find out".

"Nothin' could keep you two apart".

There was some truth in what he was saying, but Sammy had been alright in Stanford, he'd be alright now.

"Dean!"

He was walking out of the front door when Bobby appeared in the hallway. He stood still, looking at him.

A silence hang between them, but not the same that had been there while they had been working. This was awkward. Dean swallowed. Every time they had left the house, Bobby had told them to take care. But he had been human then.

"Take care, you idjit". It seemed to surprise Bobby himself that he said it just like he always had.

He nodded and left.

Once he was standing in the Salvage Yard, he put up a few sigils. Bobby would be careful but he had to make sure.

* * *

Cas wasn't looking forward to the conversation he was sure to have with Balthazar. His colleague would want an explanation and he couldn't give it. And if he should decide to call Henricksen...

He would think of something. He could always call Dean; he had the feeling that the demon had lied quite a lot over the course of his life.

The pendant had grown warm, drawing heat from his body; he no longer felt it hanging around his neck, but he knew it was there. Dean didn't want him to be possessed.

He almost felt Dean's fingers at his throat again, remembering how he had fixed his tie once more.

His hands tightened around the steering wheel and he stopped beside the road.

He was no idiot. He recognized the signs. How could he not.

He was attracted to Dean Winchester. It might have taken him a while to see, and even longer to admit it to himself, but he was attracted to the demon.

He had made peace with the fact that he was a two on the Kinsey scale when he was a teenager. Sometimes he was attracted to men. That's how he was, and he didn't mind.

But this was more than attraction, or rather, it had the potential to become more. To recognize someone was handsome, to feel oneself drawn to them was different than what he was experiencing recalling Dean fixing his tie, giving him the necklace. He could develop feelings for Dean.

The last time he had felt this potential had been equally disastrous – Meg had been an informant a large Cartel. It had never gone farther than one kiss, but he still remembered that it had hurt when he'd learnt that her boss had killed her.

And this – this would hurt so much more. With Meg, he had recognized the attraction easily, and the kiss had been both welcome and anticipated. With Dean, he had denied to himself what he was feeling because he knew exactly that nothing could come of it. Dean was going up against a powerful enemy, and he was doing it almost alone. More likely than not, the demon would die.

And even if he didn't, he was sure there were rules against humans being with demons. He might be damned, and now that he knew Hell existed he wasn't particularly keen on finding out what it was like.

And of course Dean would never reciprocate. He had saved him because he had been there, was working with him because he had summoned him.

Cas was a logical being. He wouldn't indulge in feelings when there was no hope of anything coming from him. With Meg, he had wrongly assumed that she would make it out. He wouldn't imagine anything when it came to Dean. Right now, there was only attraction. He could stop this before it became too complicated.

With this decision in his mind, he started his car again.

They were working a case. He was going to concentrate on that.

The drive felt shorter than the one to Sioux Falls, but that might be simply the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

Until now, he hadn't had time to think about what he had done.

He had shot at another human, an innocent human, and had killed him. Bobby had helped, and they had no other choice, but he still felt the guilt burning in him. The men the demons had possessed – he knew nothing about them. They must have had a life, family, friends. They would never know what became of them, just two other missing persons who were never found.

Cas had worked missing person cases, naturally. How many of them had been people who had been forced away because they were possessed and the demons did what they wanted with their bodies? How many of the files that had passed his hands could have told him the truth, if he'd only bothered to listen?

He was driving too quickly and slowed down. He was angry. At himself. At the truth.

Neither Bobby nor Dean had said anything about the men; they had looked at their bodies as an inconvenience. Cas had carried them down and helped bury them automatically. Bobby was used to looking at bodies and not seeing the men he had killed, but demons he had put down, and Dean was a demon. He wouldn't care.

He cared about him, though. He cared enough that he had come.

The attraction, the potential was tugging at his heart again and he clenched his teeth. He wasn't going to allow it.

When he came back, he wanted to rest; but seeing Balthazar wait for him in front of the station, he knew he wasn't going to.

He had never seen his friend this serious before. Normally, even when he was talking about a serious subject, there was a twinkle in his eyes. There was none now, and for a moment, Cas feared he had called Henricksen.

"I want an explanation" Balthazar said. "I know how you sound when you run into trouble, and you did so on the phone when we last talked. You are going to tell me what is going on".

It was an order. He couldn't lie. Balthazar would be able to tell. And after everything he had done, he deserved the truth.

"Cassie?"

Somehow, after shooting an innocent man and burying bodies, the nickname was the last thing Cas needed.

"I have to make a phone call" he snapped "And it's Cas".

He walked a few steps and pulled out his phone.

Dean picked up on the third ring, and he told himself he hadn't been counting.

"What?"

"I have a problem" he said, walking away from the station. "My colleague insists I tell him what is going on."

"And what does that have to do with me?"

"If I can't prove to him that what I am saying is the truth, I will be pulled off the case and sent to a psychiatrist".

Dean groaned. "Are you two alone?"

"No."

"I'm not keen on beaming myself to a police station. Your hotel room, eight pm?"

Cas confirmed it and hung up.

He returned. Balthazar was glaring at him.

"Tonight" he said. "Tonight you'll know everything. Now I'm going to go back to the hotel and get some sleep".

He left without waiting for an answer.

He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, dreams about chasing something filling his mind.

He woke up before seven pm, but he wasn't alone in the room.

He jumped up when he saw Dean sitting on the chair.

"I told you to protect yourself" the demon said calmly while he was still catching his breath.

"I was tired" he answered. He was aware that he sounded cranky, but didn't care. Dean raised an eyebrow.

"I salted the window" he said. "Didn't feel like being trapped though, so the door's still free".

Cas nodded, looking at his watch.

"What are you doing here?"

"You were the one who said –"

"We agreed on eight pm" Cas interrupted him.

Dean looked at him, his face expressionless, and Cas realized he had sounded more hostile than he'd meant.

"First run in with demons, well first time you did anything. Thought I'd make sure you weren't freaking out".

He didn't look at Cas, and he said it as if it meant nothing, but he had still come to check up on him and there was the feeling again.

Cas nodded and looked away.

"What's up with your colleague?"

"I can't keep lying to him. He'll call our boss and I'll be pulled off the case".

Dean shot him a look he couldn't read. Would he prefer that?

"That's not my problem".

"And yet here you are."

Dean grumbled something and went to the mini bar, pulling out a beer. Cas didn't point out that the Bureau would have to pay for it.

When Dean sat down, he saw the outline of the knife in his pocket.

"Bobby gave it back?"

Dean nodded. "He's got enough weapons, and I need something to protect myself. He's still got the ritual. We need a translation if we are to make any headway." He was silent for a moment. "More murders?"

Cas shook his head.

"Won't be long" Dean said, unconcerned. "Alastair is pissed. He'll need something to cheer him up."

Cas said nothing. The demon wouldn't listen anyway.

"So, how about I flash him?" Cas stared. Dean rolled his eyes and changed them to black.

"And what then? You leave and I explain?"

"That was the plan".

"You should stay". When before he had sounded too hostile, now he sounded needy, and he saw a flash of something in Dean's black eyes before he turned his head away.

The silence that followed was stifling. What was he doing here? Why was he working with a demon? He was a FBI agent, not a hunter. He should leave these things to people who spent their lives working them out.

"Fine. But don't expect me to do anything. I'll just scare him. Should be enough to make him shut up."

"Balthazar is my friend. He should know the truth".

Dean looked at him and Cas had the inexplicable urge to elaborate on his and Balthazar's relationship. He forced himself not to. It wasn't the demons business. He had no reason to explain to him that they were just friends.

In the silence that followed, he thought about what Dean had said, that Alastair would soon strike again. Another life he wouldn't be able to save. Dean was right – it was impossible to warn them all, even if he had known who they were, but he still wished he could try.

He realized that Dean hadn't changed his eyes back. He was used to them – just as used as he was to the green eyes that held so many shades in them. He had kept them dark much more often at the beginning of their acquaintance – had that really been such a short time ago? – and Cas thought that he'd been acting more human. He might just be deceiving himself, however. Maybe he wanted him to become more human. To become available.

This was why he had never enjoyed being attracted to someone, regardless if they wanted him back or not. Attraction obscured his view of things.

"When does he show up anyway?"

"Eight o'clock. Like we agreed. You were the one who had to show up early".

Dean grumbled something.

The next half an hour passed quietly, Dean sipping his beer and Cas going over the files. It was useless, of course, since he wouldn't find any clues about demons in there, but he needed something to do instead of staring at Dean.

Unfortunately, since he was sitting on a bed, his normally not very active imagination began to supply suggestions that weren't helpful.

At eight pm sharp, a knock sounded on the door, and Cas knew how worried Balthazar was. He preferred to be fashionably late.

He looked at Dean.

"Your eyes. It wouldn't be good to spring it on him like that."

Dean sighed dramatically but complied.

Cas opened the door. His colleague looked tired and slightly angry, which had probably to do with his outburst, and he moved aside noiselessly, knowing that Balthazar didn't like to hear apologies while he was still furious.

He stood still when he saw Dean, who didn't even try to greet him but watched him, sipping his beer.

When he looked at Cas, there was a suspicion in his eye that the agent didn't like. He had taken off his tie, which was good – otherwise Balthazar would have immediately jumped to the right conclusion that Dean had fixed it, and to several wrong ones Cas didn't want to think about.

"Since no one is going to ask the obvious question, I will tell you what is going on" Dean began, and Cas made a frantic move to stop him. He was too late.

Dean's eyes changed to black and Balthazar stared.

"Short version. Me demon, killer demon too. Cas is helping me. So you'll keep the boss from him. Clear?"

Balthazar had started to take backward steps, and Cas quickly stepped between him and the door. The other agent wasn't drawing his weapon, and Cas decided that for someone who had forced him to carry it nearly at all times he obviously had no interest in doing so himself.

He bumped into him and turned around.

"Castiel?"

"Everything he said was true" he explained. He glared at Dean.

"What? You said he should know the truth."

"I didn't mean you should stare at him and tell him that everything he thought about was wrong and expect him to be okay, assbutt."

"Assbutt?" Dean's eyes became green once again, most likely so that Cas could see the mockery in them.

"I do not make a habit of insulting people. I apologize if my use of words didn't fit your tastes".

Dean was opening his mouth to answer when they were interrupted by laughter.

Balthazar was leaning against the door, laughing heartily, almost shaking. Cas looked at Dean, who shrugged.

The demon stood up and took another beer out of the mini bar. It was clear that he wouldn't help him, so Cas approached his friend cautiously. Was he having some sort of breakdown? It wasn't easy to learn that demons existed, but Balthazar had always been strong.

Eventually, the laughter died down and the agent wiped tears out of his eyes.

"I spent years trying to get the stick out of your ass, and it takes a demon for you to get agitated. And your banter was just priceless".

"Always knew I was funny" Dean remarked.

Balthazar looked at him.

"So you are a demon".

"Guilty as charged."

"You don't look exactly like I pictured". He turned to Castiel.

"I can't say I blame you for losing your head, Cassie".

Cas groaned. He should have known.

Dean chuckled.

"Your colleague's got taste".

Balthazar shot him another look and something unpleasant flared in Cas' veins. It wasn't jealousy. But he certainly didn't like the way his friend was interested in Dean. Balthazar made no difference in gender when it came to looking for companions, at what time coming into work to tell Cas all about the ménage à douze he'd had the night before, and he didn't want him to –

Didn't want him to what? He was getting distracted again.

"Now you know" he began a little more forcefully than he had planned. "That's why I have been absent and I apologize that I didn't tell you before."

"I understand." Balthazar was silent for a moment. "It is a lot to take in. There doesn't happen to be Scotch in the mini bar?"

"There's whiskey".

Balthazar extended his hand; Dean let the small bottle drop into his palm and the agent thankfully took a sip.

"I needed that" he said. "So our murderer is a demon?"

"Several demons. Doesn't matter who does it".

"Why?"

Cas was still standing behind Balthazar. He caught Dean's eyes. While he had wanted his friend to know what was going on, he was only now starting to think about how much he wanted him to know; whether he truly wanted him to join them in their fight. What they were doing was dangerous, his falling asleep unprotected nothing but folly. He was lucky that Dean had wanted to check up on him.

Could he do that to his friend? Balthazar hadn't chosen to work on the case. He was here because Cas had asked him to.

He couldn't do that. He couldn't drag him into this.

Dean would tell him, though, and he desperately tried to tell him with his eyes that he shouldn't.

The demon listened because whatever he had been about to say died on his lips. He cleared his throat and began again.

"They are demons. It's fun".

"And for you?"

"I'm a special case".

"I would say".

Again this strange feeling of not jealousy – possessiveness, Cas decided. Dean had been his secret, and he didn't want to share him, like a child didn't want to share its toy. It didn't mean anything.

"Then what exactly are you working on together? I don't think there is much to be done. At least there is not really a case to be solved. I assume demons don't get arrested like humans".

Cas didn't have to see it to picture the shrewd look Balthazar wore.

"This ain't normal demon killing. They have a ritual. We think they are a group who's playing some kind of game. Last thing we want is attract attention to the fact that demons exist, so we're trying to gank them before that happens. Cas is keeping the investigation as far away from any such theory as possible".

He wouldn't have been able to lie so smoothly to his friend. He was not a bad liar, his training and work requiring it of him, but he wasn't sure he could have come up with anything so quickly with Balthazar watching him, and the other agent had known him for a very long time.

"Cas?"

Apparently Balthazar had only just realized what Dean called him, and Cas remembered him snapping that that's what he wanted to be called. He held back a groan. The other agent turned around and winked at him before looking at Dean again.

"I can help".

These words he was familiar with. He heard them every time he got stuck on a case, and while it made him feel guilty about the lied, he was glad that he had Balthazar on his side. He could deal with Henricksen while he –

While he what? Dean was working the case. He couldn't help Bobby, the hunter knowing far more about rituals than he did, and if he went after demons, he would surely get killed. He could do nothing.

But he wished he could.

"Good" Dean said. "We can't have idiots stumbling into situations they can't handle".

That hurt unexpectedly, and Cas only realized that he hadn't meant it – or at least not including him – when Dean winked at him.

He didn't want to know what Balthazar was thinking.

The other agent looked at Cas.

"There's a condition".

Something dangerous, unseen by Balthazar, passed across Dean's face, and Cas tried not to show that he was concerned.

"It's obvious that I am there to keep everyone of your back while you're running around with a demon. Fine. I'll stall Henricksen and manage the police. But – Whenever you're in over your head, or you're in trouble, you call me. And I want you to check in at least once a day."

Whatever the shadow had been, it had left Dean's face and been replaced with something like respect. Cas relaxed.

"I will". Balthazar smiled and clasped his shoulder. There was something unpleasant in Dean's eyes again, but it was gone so quickly that Cas thought he had imagined it.

Balthazar cleared his throat and looked from Cas to Dean and back again.

"I'll call Henricksen, let him know things are going well" his friend replied. "I'll leave you two to do whatever it is you were doing before".

Cas blushed. His friend smiled smugly and he all but sighed. This was difficult enough without Balthazar's insinuations.

He made a point of calling out, already halfway out of the room, "Bye, _Cas_ " and Cas groaned annoyed as Dean chuckled.

The door closed behind him and Dean spoke.

"I gotta say, your friend ain't half-bad".

Cas didn't reply; there was something dangerous, something he didn't want, couldn't think about in wondering how well Balthazar and Dean seemed to get along immediately, and instead he said, "Thank you".

He knew Dean would understand that he meant he was thankful that he hadn't revealed everything they knew to Balthazar. It wasn't a comfortable feeling, to be happy that someone had lied to his friend, but he would rather experience it than have Balthazar on the demons' radar like Cas.

"No reason to thank me. Kind of comes with the territory. And I really can't have any more humans running around charging at demons".

"You sent me to Bobby".

"And who sent you to the crime scene?"

Cas blushed again.

"I should be going" Dean said suddenly, his voice distant, and Cas frowned, tilting his head in his usual gesture of confusion.

The demon stood up, leaving the empty beer bottles on the table. Cas expected him to vanish, but he looked down on the floor and said, "Think about protecting yourself. I ain't got time to make sure you salt your windows".

He still sounded distant, disinterested.

But he didn't disappear.

Instead, he was suddenly in Cas' personal space, opening a few buttons of his shirt.

"And when you don't wear a tie, don't button your shirt up all the way. You're not a freaking tax accountant".

With that, he vanished, leaving Cas very confused.


	15. Chapter 15

It was certainly good that he could find monsters even easier now that he was a demon. Especially when he needed to blow off steam.

As he decapitated another shifter and saw the rest of the nest running towards him, he concentrated on the fury that was building up inside him. Sadly, it wasn't usual demon anger, destructive and ferocious. It was an anger he had grown all too accustomed to when he had been human and had thought he'd never feel again.

He was angry at himself. He was an idiot, and turning into a demon hadn't changed that.

Another shifter's head fell down on the floor, followed by the body. It didn't make him feel better.

It had all been going so well, or rather, as well as a colossal waste of time could go. Balthazar hadn't freaked out, and he seemed fun to be around if one was in the mood. His comments on Dean's and Castiel's relationship hadn't fazed the demon in the slightest. Or so he had thought. But then Balthazar had left and Cas had tried to thank him, and he had told him there was no need because there wasn't, and then they had bickered about who had sent who where and then Cas had blushed.

He had seen him blush before, but somehow, maybe because of Balthazar's comments, it had brought something back from his human days. Cas was good at that, making him experience emotions he hadn't felt in a long time. But this was dangerous.

He didn't have a crush on a FBI agent. He didn't have crushes. He was a demon, dammit. So what if Cas looked cute when he blushed? Or that he didn't understand his references and was too serious but could be funny if he wanted to, not to mention that he was smart and a badass...

Another shifter.

He didn't care about Cas. He was using him. That was what demons did. They didn't think that a strange guy who stumbled upon them was nice enough to keep around, or that they should make sure he was safe.

So Cas was hot, and he wouldn't mind hitting that. That was all. The feeling he had thought had risen in his breast had been nothing but imagination; even if it had prompted him to open up a few buttons of Cas' shirt, only to see his confusion before he left, to touch him again.

No. There was nothing.

He decapitated the last shifter with even greater violence, stabbing him a few times to make sure. He looked across the room and caught his reflection in a window. Black eyes, covered in blood. Knife in his hand.

That was who he was. A demon. Not Dean Winchester the hunter, who had cared for his little brother and Bobby and who would maybe have developed a crush on an agent who was kind and strong and good-looking if they had met before he went to Hell. All that was gone.

He went to the clearing they had met in before and called Bela. She appeared immediately, probably having decided that she shouldn't wait when she heard his voice.

"What do you have?"

"About the same as the last time you asked".

"I need results".

She had picked a different meatsuit this time, but it was still a beautiful woman, even though she looked nothing like Bela when she had been alive. Dean wondered if she had forgotten her own face. Hell could do such things to you.

He brought his hand up to rub his face, an utterly human gesture, he realized. He was aware what he must look like, the knife still in his hands, his clothes bloody. She hadn't commented on it.

"I can tell you that your little fight with Alastair is being discussed all over Hell" she said, softly. She didn't want him to get angry. He really must look scary.

"Didn't fight him".

"No, but a hunter who everyone knows you were friends with and a FBI agent did" she replied.

He looked at her.

"Cas?"

He saw the question in her eyes, along with a suspicion he decided to ignore.

"They know about the agent?"

"It is difficult to ignore that a man who had never even shown up on the radar before put bullets into Alastair's meatsuit. Add the fact that he's investigating the murders. It's not a difficult leap".

He hoped Cas had made sure the room was secure after he had left. He should have known better than to work with an agent and think that no one would notice.

"Is he –"

"Is he what?" Dean snapped, his grip on the knife tightening as he glared at her.

When she spoke, he felt that she had meant to say something different.

"Is he safe?"

"He won't be possessed. And I told him to take care".

She nodded. It was clear that she was not satisfied, that she wanted to know what was going on. Not that there was anything.

"Crowley wants to see you".

He held back a groan. He wasn't afraid of Crowley, but it wouldn't be a pleasant conversation.

"Where is he?"

She told him the name of an expensive bar a few towns over, and he rolled his eyes. Of course he would go somewhere he could get his beloved Craig.

"You should change first. I think your clothes would draw some attention".

He had almost forgotten about the blood.

He nodded and vanished. He went to a store and stole new clothes before throwing his old ones away.

Crowley was waiting for him at the bar, a glass in front of him. He was smiling, but there was a look in his eyes that warned Dean that this wasn't going to be easy.

"Crowley" he said, sitting down and gesturing to the bartender.

Once he had ordered his whiskey, Crowley answered, "Dean. We have been busy since we talked last, haven't we".

Dean didn't answer.

"Sending a little bodyguard to a certain friend of yours, and showing up there yourself – not exactly subtle".

Dean didn't have an explanation for "showing up", other than that they had been in danger and he couldn't not have come to their help. He had always rushed in where angels feared to dread, and that obviously hadn't changed in Hell.

"Now, of course, Alastair knows that you are working this case, and therefore knows you are working for me."

"With you" Dean hissed. He resisted the temptation to flash his eyes. Apart from the fact that they were sitting in a bar, it wouldn't have scared Crowley.

"We are working together, and only because I accepted" he said slowly, his hand moving towards the concealed knife. He would not let himself be chastised like a school boy. He knew himself that what he had done was stupid, but that didn't mean Crowley could just summon him and annoy him.

He watched the eyes of the future King of Hell follow his hand before they snapped back up to him again. Dean had the advantage. He could kill Crowley now and vanish. The other demon was older and more powerful, but he was just as quick as he had always been, and it would be easy to plunge the knife in his throat at this distance.

Crowley smiled. In that smile lay respect, and Dean knew that it meant Crowley had understood him. In truth, he didn't have anything against his plan of ruling Hell. Guy was a bastard, but he was the best option. He kept his deals, and that was something that shouldn't be underestimated. Dean would admit that he grudgingly respected Crowley, which was probably a good mirror of the other's feelings about him.

"How did you get out, by the way? And with all your friends intact?"

"Alastair ran" he replied. "I killed the other one."

"He ran?"

"They pumped his meatsuit full of shells. Must have hurt like a bitch".

"How did the old hunter react when he saw you alive. Bobby Singer, wasn't it? You were quite close".

Of course the bastard would choose such a moment, just when Dean had relaxed and concentrated on telling the story.

"He isn't going to gank me, if that's what you mean".

"If he was, you wouldn't be sitting here".

He huffed. "Please. I can take Bobby".

"But you wouldn't".

He couldn't deny it. After he had got out of Hell, when he had been convinced that every little shred of humanity he'd ever had had been burnt and broken beyond repair, he would have thought it possible. If Bobby found out and came to gank him, why shouldn't he kill him first? It was the way things were.

But now that he had seen him, spoken to him – Bobby was still Bobby, and he had still practically raised him. Even if he had decided to use the knife, Dean wouldn't have hurt him.

Crowley decided not to pursue the subject any further, thankfully.

"Let's talk about your little friend. This really put him on the radar".

Dean didn't need to be reminded.

"He is useful" he said.

"He is a liability. After this stunt, everyone knows you have a soft spot for Bobby Singer, which is difficult enough, but now the agent too – "

"Then everyone I ever met is a liability" Dean interrupted him. Cas wasn't anything special. They were working together.

"It isn't everyday that a demon runs into something to save a human" Crowley reminded him. "And you haven't been exactly sociable since your stay downstairs. He might be the only bargaining chip they can think of".

Dean didn't want to say it, but it wasn't true. There was Sam. Everyone knew how close they were – had been. He swallowed.

"Don't worry, Dean" Crowley added, "your brother is not to be touched."

Dean frowned.

"There are some upsides to people still believing in the Apocalypse" Crowley explained. "Let's just say, Lilith instructed her followers well. And this demon is too intelligent to risk anyone freaking out over killing Sam Winchester when he could be useful".

As a human, Dean would have demanded an explanation. But he knew better than to ask Crowley what he meant, especially since this would probably only have made him angry again. If Crowley said Sam was safe, he was. Plus, the kid was protecting himself. Dean had checked. And he might have drawn some sigils into a corner at his and his girlfriend's home one day before making sure that no demon, not even him, could enter it again.

Sam was safe. He would continue to be so. He still looked out for his brother. Not even Hell could have taken that away from him.

But Cas –

"There is of course a way to get rid of our problem". The way Crowley looked at him let Dean know what he was about to say before he did.

"Kill the agent. He might have held Alastair off once, but he's just human. And I need your head here, not with some pretty man in a police station".

"No". Dean's voice brooked no argument.

Crowley sighed.

"Fine. But once they have their hands on him – and they will, you can't keep watch on him at all times – he will suffer far more than if you did it."

Dean knew he was right.

But he also knew that no one was going to touch Cas while he was still kicking.

* * *

 

After Dean had left, Cas made the room secure. He used several protection symbols he had found in books, as well as those he could recall from the crime scenes and Bobby's. He would have to clean up the room before he left, but he was safe for now.

He didn't feel scared. He probably should have been. There might be demons after him, and he was sitting in a room full of protection symbols that had failed to keep several people from getting murdered.

And yet he wasn't scared. He was excited.

Maybe it had something to do with doing something that he knew was rebellious, stupid and dangerous for the first time in his life; maybe it had something to do with –

No. He refused to think like this. He caught his reflection in the window and realized that he hadn't buttoned his shirt back up. He quickly did so, putting on his tie as well. He'd got used to never having it tied properly. He'd soon forget what it looked like.

Once his room was protected, he sat down on the bed. He didn't have anything to do. If Dean found something out, he would call him. But until then...

He was too excited to sleep. While he wasn't "freaking out", as Dean would undoubtedly have put it, his thoughts kept turning around everything that had happened. A short time ago, he hadn't believed in the supernatural. He had been a good agent, had never lied to his boss, never done something that couldn't be justified, never not filled a report about every measure he took to solve the case.

In under a week, he had gone to the crime scene, not arrested a suspect, broken into another crime scene, summoned a demon, talked to witnesses without filling out a form, assisted in the killing of one man and shot another, buried bodies, lied to Balthazar and to the police and had convinced his colleague to lie to their boss as well.

His father would have been appalled. But his father was dead – and he had left, long before he had died. Not like Gabriel had – packing his bags and leaving – but slowly, he had said less and less, looking at them as if he didn't really see them, and perhaps it had been one of the factors that had made his brother leave. Afterwards, their father had scarcely mentioned him, content to live out his retirement in his house. Phone calls and visits had been an obligation, not pleasure. They had been strangers, and when he had died, Cas had tried to feel what he should, but hadn't been able to. Gabriel had changed his phone number and hadn't yet called him from his new phone so that he didn't attend the funeral, and when he had eventually contacted him and Cas had informed him of their father's death, they had talked about him like he had been a passing acquaintance.

Maybe his father wouldn't have cared. He didn't seem to have in the last few years of his life.

How he'd looked at Castiel and how Bobby Singer had looked at down provided a striking contrast.

On an impulse, he called Bobby.

The old hunter picked up. When Cas greeted him, he immediately asked, "What's up?"

When he said that he'd only wanted to check in, there was silence at the other end. Cas wondered how often people called Bobby just because they wanted to talk. Dean seemed like the type to do that – when he had still been human. Maybe Bobby was remembering times when he'd picked up the phone and his boy had greeted him.

He was about to apologize and hang up when Bobby started talking about a car he'd had problems with.

In all the craziness of the last few days, he hadn't had a normal conversation with anyone, if he didn't count Balthazar. And then he had been nervous because he had been lying to a friend. But Bobby – they both knew what was going on, but were deliberately ignoring it for a few minutes. It felt comforting.

Neither of them mentioned Dean, although Cas was sure Bobby had to think about him. The man – the son – who had become a demon. And yet had shown up to save him. He and Dean seemed to have got along fine, but Cas didn't know enough of their relationship to be certain. It must have been a shock. And yet he had let him out of the trap.

Cas didn't know much about cars, but it was relaxing to listen to the old hunter. He wondered if Sam called often – probably not. Based on how enthusiastic Bobby was, he didn't get many phone calls like this.

After five minutes of Cas agreeing to what he said, the hunter's voice changed.

"You and Dean."

There was nothing in his tone to suggest more. He was simply saying "You and Dean", a confirmation that they worked together. Cas was silent.

"I just – thank you. For giving me my boy back".

"I didn't do anything" he replied.

Bobby chuckled. "He didn't come for me."

"He sent me to help you" Cas reminded him, and Bobby coughed, although it might very well have been a covered-up sniffle.

"He did. It's just – when he's with you, he's the same as always. I saw you".

Cas blushed and was thankful that no one was there to see it.

"He is fond of you" he said softly.

Bobby coughed again.

"I – know. It's just – when you spent years ganking these things, it's kind of hard to have one in the family all of a sudden".

Cas could imagine. He hadn't known Dean before; he wouldn't notice differences between the man he had been and the demon he was now. Bobby had to, however. And it must be difficult not to let show what this meant to him. He had treated Dean kindly, but he had to be sad. Even if his boy had come back.

"I –" Bobby broke off. He was obviously not sued to talk about his feelings, and to be honest, neither was Cas. But they were both alone, and they were talking, and they didn't have anything better to do.

"I just wish he'd come back as he was".

"That's natural".

"But I kind of think it's unfair to him. And that's insane – he's a demon".

"A demon who saved us" Cas said softly.

"He did".

They were both silent for a moment, then the old hunter asked, "Has he told you about his brother?"

"Not much. I know more from you".

A sigh on the other end. "I promised not to tell him. Just wish I could, that's all".

If he knew Sam, he would probably feel the same. From all he knew, he and his brother had been close. Bobby had said that Dean had always been looking out for Sam. Cas could understand why Dean wouldn't want him to know - he'd been a hunter too and it would be even more difficult for him than for Bobby to see him as a demon. But Bobby had seen that Dean wasn't a monster; surely Sam could too.

Cas thought about telling him, but the idea left his as soon as it had come. He wouldn't betray Dean's confidence like that. He obviously didn't want his brother to know. And he didn't want the demon angry with him. He had made clear that it was not a good idea when he'd threatened him after he had summoned him.

"Maybe he'll come around" Cas replied.

"Not looking forward to lying to Sam in the meantime" Bobby answered, "but you're right. You can't keep those two apart for long".

Cas smiled. Dean had made a deal to save his brother, which was why he had ended up in Hell in the first place. The devotion it took, just like the one George Stevens had shown to the memory of his sister, astounded him. If Gabriel or he died, the other would likely not hear about it; and if he did, they would probably not even show up at the funeral. That was, Cas would go out of a sense of obligation; Gabriel wouldn't care.

He wondered what had gone wrong. He had done it before, especially after Gabriel had left; but after a while, the pain had left, leaving only a slight memory of a big brother who had taught him how to make itching powder.

Sam Winchester must mourn his brother. Even after more than three years had gone by. Such a devotion couldn't be one sided.

"Did you get anywhere with the manuscript?" Cas asked to hide the lump in his throat.

"Don't you think I would have called?" He knew Bobby wasn't really angry, and inquired, "Do you need anything? I could perhaps ask –"

"No, thanks. I've cracked harder nuts than this. And I have a few people I can call".

He wasn't surprised that the hunter didn't want him to ask any of his contacts if they could translate the ritual. If he had learned anything, it was that people like Dean and Bobby weren't exactly FBI friendly. If they got nowhere, he could always go to Balthazar, though: his friend's informants had always been less conservative than his own. He doubted the Bureau knew of some of them.

They ended the call soon afterwards, Bobby sounding relieved, even if they hadn't spoken much about what had happened.

Cas looked out the window and found himself thinking about whether Dean would make a habit of calling the old hunter, like he believed he had when he'd been human.

* * *

 

Bobby put down his phone with a small smile. Cas was a good kid. Since Dean had died, there had been the sporadic phone call from Sam, but they had never been the same as when Dean felt still riled up after a hunt and would call him just to talk.

Just like Cas had called him, without any object in mind. It wasn't that Sam didn't want to talk to him; but he was always checking on him, or they were grieving together. Cas was simply being nice.

Without him, he would be dead now. Dean had sent over the right person.

Dean.

He sighed. He poured himself another glass of whiskey and sat down at his desk, the ritual before him. He was glad to have his boy back, so glad that it almost eclipsed the despair he felt at knowing he was a demon. Damned. Dean had deserved better. Dean should have had a wonderful life, he should be there to see his brother get married, as the human they had known, dammit. True, the demon wasn't that different from the boy who'd chased Sam around in his living room – but he was dangerous. Any demon who had once been a hunter would be.

Although – wasn't he a hunter still? He certainly killed demons. He was investigating murders. He did what he had always down, although from the other side.

Bobby took a large gulp of his whiskey. He didn't know how long Dean had been in Hell – he suspected that time passed differently there, Dean wouldn't have broken in little more than for years – but it was obvious that he had been back for quite some time. Before he'd been in danger, Dean had been as reluctant to come to him as to Sam.

It might be that Cas had something to do with his change of mind. He'd sent him here, making it clear that he'd had no intention to show up. But he had. And just at the right time, too.

Bobby was no fool. He knew Dean. He'd seen countless looks over the years that had convinced him the boy wasn't completely straight. He couldn't have cared less. He just wanted to see Dean happy with anyone. Of course the idjit had never told him – he doubted he'd told Sam. The way he looked at Cas, though – and Cas was staring right back at him.

Dean had said something about damning Cas, but it might just have been a joke.

But even if it had been – he wouldn't do anything about it. Bobby slumped in his seat.

Even as a demon, Dean Winchester would never do anything to make himself happy.

He couldn't do anything about this, but he could focus on the task at hand.

There had to be some way to crack this ritual.


	16. Chapter 16

She was happy. She had never been on earth before, and she had been allowed to because she was working for their leader, who would bring Hell down upon men so that demons could live the lives they deserved. She only had to do what she was told. She had faith.

She had been taught what to do. Hunters were stronger humans than most, but they were still humans, and she was certain she could easily do what she had been sent to do.

It was a pretty house, one she wouldn't mind living in once they had what they wanted.

She breathed in the night air. She had never seen the sky before, and it was beautiful. It was a pity humans ruled the Earth. Stupid little things. Soon everything would be different.

_Find the weak spot. There is always a weak spot._

Thankfully, humans were as stupid as they were weak. Normally, weak spots were to be found near windows or the front door, because they considered it too much trouble to make sure everything was in place while opening and closing them.

One would have thought they would be more careful with their life than this. At least she wouldn't have to look long.

She was right. There was a small break in the salt line at the second window on the first floor, and she quickly opened it and cleaned the line away carefully. Before she stepped inside, she checked that there was no ward above or below. She didn't want to be caught. She had never stepped foot on Earth, and she was a young demon, but she had been taught well. She wouldn't fail.

The guy was obviously a neat freak, she decided after she had manoeuvred through three spotless rooms, and she smiled when she thought how much fun it'd be to make _him_ the mess.

He was still up. She knew hunters had weird hours. Everyone around them was still asleep. He was sitting in his kitchen, reading a book, drinking.

She had learned what to do.

It wasn't easy to control one's powers when one was still a new demon, but she had spent countless hours practicing.

When she entered the kitchen, she immediately paralyzed him. She could see the fear in his eyes, as well as the anger, and she felt him struggling. He was strong, and almost managed to escape her hold several times, but he was helpless as she picked him up and carried him to the living room.

Once or twice, she felt something stir in her; something lost and scared. She'd only taken her meatsuit an hour ago. It was her first, and it wasn't easy to suppress the human. She felt panic and pleads and quickly tried knocking her out again. She'd be gone soon anyway. The girl had no reason to worry. For now, at least.

She dragged the guy right in the middle of the floor. His eyes were wide, and he was struggling, his will pushing against her power.

She'd thought it would be easy, but it wasn't, and she enjoyed the challenge. She was glad he'd been the one assigned to her. And the experience would do her good.

His eyes didn't widen as she showed him the knife, simply because they couldn't. She smiled, her eyes black, and began cutting.

The minutes passed quickly, as she noiselessly cut him up like she had been taught. She watched as the light left his eyes. He had lived longer than she thought he would.

Her hands bloody, she stood up and looked over her work, feeling her power. A few minutes later, she left, another step taken towards their goal.

* * *

Cas had finally managed to fall asleep. He dreamed. He didn't dream often. He was aware that one dreamed every night, of course, but he rarely remembered them.

_He was walking through a land without colour, without air, without life. He didn't know why he walked, where he was going, but he didn't stop. There was no point. He kept going and going, the land around him looking indistinct, so that he could never say what exactly he was walking through, and he wasn't surprised or scared. He was simply walking._

_He walked for hours. He didn't feel tired; the very passage of time seemed to him to be nothing but a measure to determine how long he had walked; he didn't care where he was going and when he was going to get there. As he kept taking step after step, he became aware that he might very well never get anywhere, that he would forever be walking in this grey nothingness, and he didn't mind. It was comforting to know what lay ahead. Nothing would change – nothing could change. The very predictability of what he was looking forward to made him feel safe. He was safe._

_He felt safe until something began to appear around him. At first, he paid it no heed. It might very well have been only an illusion, his eyes acting out against the grey around them. But then, when it flashed by more and more often, he could no longer ignore it._

_Colour._

_Green._

_Sometimes large patches of the indescribable land, sometimes only a speck – but the colour was there and it kept appearing. It wasn't only green, though; it took him a while to see it, but there was black too. He had overlooked it, maybe because it wasn't that different from the grey that surrounded him; but wherever there was green, there was sure to be black as well, the two seemingly interlinked yet apart, the black now and then overpowering the green and vice versa; one moment they seemed to be in equilibrium, in the next they were fighting, trying to destroy one another. The grey world became a world of green and black and struggle, and he felt uneasy._

_He came to a crossroads. He hadn't seen any of them before. He had always known to keep walking a straight line._

_He stood still._

_To his right, the path went on, grey as it had been before, grey as it was meant to be; it was safe, it was predictable._

_To his left, there was green and black, intertwined, fighting, rebelling against one another; it was dangerous, unknown._

_He stood still and he didn't know why. What he wanted was safety; it was all he had ever known. Why should he look down the left path?_

_He hadn't noticed it before, but to his right, in the distance, a figure motioned for him to move forwards. He thought it was an old man._

_He had already moved when he looked at the green and black and stopped again._

_The figure motioned, more angrily this time. He should follow. He didn't._

_He was looking at the green and black._

_The black was dangerous. It would try to kill him. Make him do things he didn't want to do, laugh at his decision to choose this path. How he knew, he couldn't say. But he knew it was true._

_But the green._

_It was struggling, sometimes weaker than the black._

_But vibrant. Shining._ Alive.

_He had felt safe in the grey, but he hadn't felt alive._

_He moved towards the green._

Cas woke up. He rubbed his eyes and dismissed the dream. He could have analyzed what he had seen, and he was certain that it wouldn't take long to figure out the meaning – already he could feel it, deep in himself.

It was safer to dismiss it.

Dean would let him know if he found something out. He decided to go to the station. Even if he could do nothing, he had to act like he was investigating the case.

Balthazar was up, eating breakfast. Cas joined him.

"You slept late".

He didn't have the patience to deal with Balthazar's innuendos.

"I was tired. I'd just spent hours driving".

He knew he sounded angry and that Balthazar didn't deserve it. He didn't know why he was angry – no, he knew, he knew very well, but he chose not to think about it.

His friend looked at him with a hint of understanding in his eyes, and Cas hated it. He silently ate his toast.

"Dean... he's certainly different. Quite interesting. I never thought demons were real. Much less that they wore plaid".

Balthazar's attempt at levity fell flat, but he appreciated it nonetheless. He gave him a small smile.

"What is he?"

Cas looked at him.

"Didn't you just say that?"

Balthazar waved a hand. "I didn't mean – he just acts very human".

"He used to be" Cas said. He didn't feel comfortable telling his colleague more, and he seemed to understand. He didn't say anything else on the subject.

"So we basically have to stop the end of the world?"

"Yes".

"At least we have a good-looking demon on our side" he answered, but it was obviously meant to be a joke, and Cas relaxed.

"Now how did you two meet, exactly? I want details".

He told him. Balthazar was a good listener. Witnesses trusted him, and he suspected it was one of the reasons Henricksen had never called his friend out on his expenses. He found himself thankful that he listened to him with the same attention he bestowed on anyone involved in their cases and didn't interrupt.

When he had finished, he sighed and looked at his plate, and Cas had the strange impression that he would have let his head fall on the table if they had been alone.

"Damn it, Cas –" The "s" was unnaturally long and he suspected that he had to remind himself not to call him "Cassie" "You went to a crime scene alone? At night?"

He deserved Balthazar's anger. It had been foolish of him. Despite everything that had happened, though, he couldn't be sorry.

"This case has had going you crazy from the start". He couldn't deny it.

"Don't get me wrong, it's delightful to see the stick out of your ass".

"I beg your pardon?"

"How does it feel to be one of those who go against the rules?" he asked, grinning. Cas rubbed his face.

"It's not that".

"What then? Withholding information? And Henricksen? I don't think he'd appreciate – "

"I don't think you should tell me that" Cas reminded him. He had turned a blind eye on enough of Balthazar's escapades over the years.

"Just be careful". Balthazar's temperament, always mercurial, was even more prone to changes now, it seemed; a second ago, he had been full of mirth, now he was serious.

"I will" Cas promised, without knowing if he would be able to keep it.

"When do you think –" Balthazar began in the car.

"Soon" Cas interrupted him. His experience told him that there was likely to be another murder; Dean thought so; and he could feel it. He might as well listen to his feelings now, with a demon as a colleague and the end of the world hanging over their heads.

They had won a little time by ensuring he and Bobby survived; but it was a few days at best – He remembered Alastair's stare. He wouldn't only wish to complete the first task, but he would also want to make someone suffer.

He thought about the cold longing to torture in Alastair's eyes, the rage in those of the other demon. Dean could have been like that. But he wasn't. He had kept his humanity, kept it through torture and pain and blood, and he was fighting to save the world.

It would have been easier if Cas hadn't admired the demon, he knew. But how could he not? Dean was strong, stronger than he could ever hope to be.

Balthazar cleared his throat and Cas looked at him. His friend winked and he groaned.

"What? I'm – "

"Don't say it". When Balthazar opened his mouth, he repeated, "Don't say it". Whatever he wanted to say, it would be too close to the truth.

He could tell Balthazar was shooting him concerned looks without seeing them. He didn't think his friend realized that this was no joking matter – that he was on the edge of something dangerous indeed – or at least he hadn't until now.

The police didn't pay them attention. Cas hadn't been around much, and when he had, he had been irritable, and Balthazar had gone through the evidence again and again without needing help. They had become a sort of fixture, not inconvenient but not helpful either, and most of the police ignored them.

They had just settled down with two cups of the hideous coffee that tasted the same in every police station across the country when Cas' phone rang.

He saw it was Dean and informed Balthazar of the fact, his voice flat. He wasn't going to smile or think that this meant anything but business. The sooner he got rid of the attraction, the better.

"Hello, Dean."

"There's been another one".

He didn't have to elaborate. Cas didn't have to explain it to Balthazar, because his colleague knew immediately, if his expression was anything to go by.

"Where?" They didn't have the time for a lengthy conversation, and Dean would know what he meant, just like he had known that the four words he had spoken meant that the demons had come closer to destroy Earth.

"Clinton".

"That's hardly two hours from here".

"I know" Dean said, sounding tense. It took him a moment to understand, but then he was angry that he hadn't comprehended immediately. Cas had been at Bobby Singer's, the demons knew he worked with him; this might very well be a way to ensure Cas was there as soon as possible, to eliminate him.

"We'll have to wait to – "

"Already called the cops. Wilson Avenue 137. I'll see you there".

He hung up.

Cas stared at his phone. What had Dean meant by "I'll see you there"? At the crime scene? He preferred to do his investigations at night, and he had told Cas he'd called the police, so he must already have been there.

"Cas?"

Still the slightly longer s, but Balthazar sounded surer of himself this time.

"Clinton" he said. "He'll meet us there".

Balthazar asked no questions. They were on the road ten minutes later without having told the police – they'd think of something, his friend had explained cheerfully.

It wasn't Balthazar's usual cheerfulness – he was concerned, tense, shooting Cas glances when he thought he wasn't looking – but he was still trying to joke, and Cas knew that meant that whatever had him preoccupied, it wasn't too serious.

They arrived in Clinton one hour and fifteen minutes after they had left Enid, which had more to do with Balthazar breaking several laws than the traffic, and it didn't take long to find the address. The whole street was closed off, and the PC they showed their badges too snorted.

"Guess you really weren't far off".

"I am sorry?" Cas asked, despite Balthazar nudging him. He should have caught on earlier. The PC frowned.

"Agent Kramer?"

He understood. Quickly he tried to cover up his mistake.

"Of course. I didn't expect him to arrive before us. Could you please lead us to him?"

The PC still looked suspicious, but complied. As they followed him, Balthazar whispered, "You think – "

"Do you have a better explanation?"

And, just like they had expected, they found Dean in the living room, wearing scrubs just like they did, talking to a woman.

He turned when he heard them enter and waved.

"Agents Novak and –"

"Roché" Balthazar supplied.

Dean nodded. "Of course. Sorry. Haven't seen each other since – Miami, wasn't it?"

"Texas" Balthazar corrected him.

Dean smiled and pointed at the woman next to him. "DI Penthurst. The victim's name is Joe Taernes".

Cas looked at the body. It was lying in the middle of the living room, just like the other ones, the mutilations exactly the same. He really shouldn't have looked at it at more of the same, especially after his reaction to George Stevens, but he couldn't help it, especially when Dean was standing next to him, looking so human in the blue overall that made everyone look strange.

They left the living room, Dean proclaiming that he would show his colleagues the rest of the house. As soon as they had moved into the bedroom upstairs, Cas asked, "Dean?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Didn't see a reason to miss out on all the action. Me and Sam pretended to be agents all the time. I figured why not?".

"Because it is a felony?"

"Don't act like you aren't glad that I'm here".

Again, Cas found himself cursing his blush, with Balthazar there to witness how easily Dean could fluster him no less.

"So" his friend asked, "the same?"

"A demon, yeah".

"That means – "

"They're one step closer" Dean finished.

"Did you know him?" Cas inquired.

"Who?"

It would have been easier if he would have believed that Dean didn't know what he was talking about. But he had come to know the demon, and he could see in his green eyes that he was aware what he was asking.

He was silent, staring him down.

"I never met him" Dean replied eventually. "I heard of him. He was good".

They continued looking at one another. It was as if time had stopped.

"I am very sorry to interrupt" Balthazar said, "but we have a job to do".

Cas snapped out of whatever had had him trapped in Dean's eyes and took a step back. The demon looked – flustered? No, it couldn't be.

"Of course" Dean said. "There's – "

He moved towards the cupboard and suddenly stood still.

"Damn it."

"A devil's trap?"

Dean nodded.

"Painted with something invisible".

Cas quickly went down and asked a forensic tech for a UV lamp, then investigated the ceiling and floor with it. It was painted on the ceiling, and he quickly let Dean out.

"How did the killer get in?" he asked, not having done so before.

"Window. It's always a weak spot" Dean replied. He hadn't thanked Cas, and he was angry that he even cared.

"Is there anything here that can help us?" Balthazar demanded.

Dean shook his head.

"I already scooped the place. I was the first one here. Missed the demon by minutes".

"Then why are you here?"

Cas sounded more aggressive than he should have, but it was difficult enough to accept that he felt attracted to a demon without said demon doing his job.

"It has been awhile" Dean said slowly, and it took Cas a second to remember that he'd told him that he and Sam had pretended to be agents. He hadn't been able to resist, he decided. He and Sam had been close – even with his limited knowledge of their relationship, he could say that – and Dean had to miss those times.

He was here because of nostalgia, not because he wanted to spend time with him.

"What if – " Dean anticipated what he was about to say and raised a hand to make him stop talking.

"If he calls my boss, Bobby'll tell him that I'm the real deal."

It was obvious that Bobby had been on phone duty many times before, and Cas smiled.

"Bobby?" Balthazar asked.

"Old friend" Dean explained off-handedly.

Cas doubted that the demon he'd met a short time ago would have put it like that. He wasn't so conceited to think that his influence had something to with his – for lack of a better word – humanization, but he looked different. Less tense. Not as ferocious. Although Cas didn't doubt that it wouldn't take much to make him angry. He could remember his reaction to being trapped by him very well.

"So what now?"

Dean looked at Balthazar disapprovingly.

"Setting up our headquarter, of course".

Cas shouldn't have found Dean's obvious delight at impersonating a federal officer endearing, but he did.

As they were about to leave, DI Penthurst came to meet them.

Cas had seen the same look in countless DIs' faces. Many didn't like when the Bureau came and took over their investigation, which was one of the reason he was often sent to work sensitive cases. He rarely gave people the feeling that he was stepping on their toes.

"You came here fast".

Dean gave her a reassuring smile and explained, "I was in town following another clue that turned out to be a dead end. Was about to leave, but then I saw the police cars and I had to see what was going on".

If Cas had told her that, he would have expected her to be sceptical; but she simply accepted Dean's explanation, even smiled a little and told them they had a room ready for them at the PD.

"You do have a talent for lying" Balthazar observed once they sat in the car.

"Demon. What do you expect me to do?"

 _Not what you are doing,_ Castiel thought. One didn't expect demons to save people and work on cases. One didn't expect them to hand over the knife that could kill them.

"Not bad" Dean commented, and Cas looked at him to see him study the interior of the car. "Motor's pouring".

"You know about cars?" Balthazar asked, and Cas remembered that Bobby had asked him about one to make sure this was really Dean he was talking to.

"Should have seen my baby" Dean boasted, grinning. "1967 Chevy Impala". Suddenly, his grin faltered and he looked out of the window.

Cas wondered what had happened, then he recalled that his brother had crammed a toy soldier in the ashtray of the car. He must have been reminded of Sam. Once again, it was one of the things he would never have expected of a demon.

Dean was sitting in the front seat, having forced Balthazar into the back by simply sitting down and not getting up, and Cas glared at his friend through the rear view mirror. He understood and kept his silence.

It only occurred to him when he parked in front of the PD that he had put Dean's comfort over Balthazar's, and he was angry at himself for it.

Balthazar had been his friend for years. No passing infatuation should cause Cas to glare at him.

That his friend was shooting him understanding looks made it worse.

Dean was oblivious to what was going on and strolled into the police station like he belonged there. He introduced them and asked for the room, leading the way.

Cas shouldn't have been surprised.

Once they were alone, Dean said, "Almost forgot. Removed a few things from the crime scene. Dangerous stuff. Dumped it where no one can find it".

Cas didn't want to be impressed. In fact, he wanted to be annoyed that Dean had taken over his investigation. But he couldn't be.

He assumed there had been other boxes like the ones found in the other victims' homes in this one's too, and that Dean had made sure no one would open them.

He became more human with every passing second – no, he acted more human. He had to play a role; he was a FBI agent. And maybe he thought Cas would rather help him if he acted like this.

It was difficult to tell himself that while watching Dean take the coffee he had requested, giving the woman a flirty wink.

It was ridiculous to feel jealous. There was no reason to.

Dean took a sip and grimaced. Cas, after trying, had to agree with him. It was even worse than the coffee usually served at PDs.

"What now?" Balthazar voiced all their thoughts.

"We wait" Dean said simply.

"For what?"

The demon looked at Cas.

He understood.

There was a reason the murder had been so near to the last one. The demon who was behind this knew about Cas. They wanted him here.

His job had just got even more dangerous.


	17. Chapter 17

"To make it clear: A demon is after Cassie?"

In his anger and concern – that would have caused Cas embarrassment once upon a time, but that he had grown used to and even welcomed after a decade of friendship – Balthazar used his old nickname.

Dean nodded. It was a careless gesture, and Cas told himself that it was stupid to be hurt.

"And you think we should just wait?"

"They'll follow us no matter where we go" Dean said. "If we gank this one, they'll see that they have to take a different approach. We should have peace for a few days, then".

"All we have to do is kill a demon. That doesn't sound difficult" Balthazar replied sarcastically.

Dean answered, completely serious, "It isn't".

Balthazar sighed.

After a moment of silence, Dean continued, "We'll visit the crime scene tonight. The demon will be there. Waiting for us."

"When are we going?"

They looked at Balthazar.

"I'm not having another agent running around" Dean said immediately. "It's difficult enough keeping one of you save".

"I am keeping myself save" Cas hissed. He hadn't meant to, but he didn't appreciate being talked about as a burden. If Dean thought he was too much trouble to keep around, he could leave.

Dean sat down, not even looking at him, his shoulders tense.

"We'll be there by midnight" he said eventually. It was an order.

Cas left the room to ask the forensics if they had found anything. He knew they hadn't, he simply had to get away.

He was being ridiculous. Dean was a demon. What did he expect? That he cared for him? Dean cared for Bobby because he had known him when he was human. Cas was only the FBI agent who needed saving.

Once they had dealt with this – once they had stopped demons from taking over the Earth – he wouldn't see him again.

It was easy to accept because he had to. They were colleagues. Not even friends.

Balthazar held back a sigh when he watched his friend all but storm out. Cassie was in trouble. Just like he had been when he had become interested in Meg. Balthazar had been able to tell then, and he was able to do so now.

Only this time it was dangerous. Meg had always had the chance to get out; Dean on the other hand – he was a demon. They weren't even the same species.

He would have to watch out for Cassie. He was a logical man, but when it came to feelings, he wasn't always smart.

He eyed Dean. The demon was looking out the window, his fingers drumming a beat on the table. If he hadn't know what he was, he would have believed him to be a normal agent. He certainly knew how to act.

Cassie trusted him and Balthazar would allow that he had helped him and had come here to protect him. He would keep an eye out, but for now there was nothing to indicate Dean was not to be trusted. Aside from the fact that he was a demon.

"Why are you here?"

"I already told you, I'm not gonna repeat myself".

"You know what I mean. This is a demon problem. Why are you here with two FBI agents? I have the feeling that most demons aren't exactly human friendly".

Dean looked up then. With his green eyes, it was difficult to imagine that he was a demon. In fact, it didn't take much effort to pretend he was a colleague.

And with him in that suit, Balthazar could definitely understand Cassie.

"I'm not –"

He thought Dean would talk. He thought he would get an answer. But then his face turned into a mask and he began studying the file again.

"None of your business".

Balthazar knew he wouldn't get anything out of the demon and went to get more coffee. It might have been horrible, but it was still coffee.

Cassie was nowhere to be seen; he probably was at forensics, just like he had said. He wasn't like Balthazar, he wouldn't lie about something like that.

Balthazar sighed. Of all his friends, Cassie had always been the one he had had to be the least concerned for. That had definitely changed.

Dean tried to concentrate on the file. He had no other idea why Cas suddenly got so bitchy. This was complicated enough without a partner he couldn't trust. If only Sam were here. The thought came unbidden, as always, and Dean gripped the file tight enough that he almost ripped the paper.

Sam had got out. He was living the life he'd always wanted. Human Dean would barely have had a place in it, and the one he was now definitely hadn't.

Sam would know what to do, though. He'd know what was the matter with Cas.

This was all Dean's fault. He should never have taken the agent back to his motel room after saving him. He didn't know why he still kept getting rooms to begin with – it wasn't like he needed to sleep. Force of habit, he assumed.

But the point was that Cas was in danger because of him. And he had another FBI agent to watch out for.

"Nothing".

Cas let himself fall on a chair next to him. He sounded frustrated.

"Wasn't expecting anything" Dean said. He handed him the file. Cas took it without comments.

The silence stretched uncomfortably.

"Never liked that part. Waiting" Dean said, more to hear someone say anything than because he thought it important that Cas knew.

The agent shrugged.

"I suppose you are more impatient now too".

He was calm, distant. This wasn't the Cas Dean had grown used, and he was about to ask what was going on when he realized that that was hardly demon behaviour and stayed silent.

If Cas was finally seeing that running around with a demon was dangerous, good for him. Dean could go back to save the world on his own without a human to protect.

Balthazar returned with the coffee; he had unexpectedly got one for Dean too.

The demon accepted it without thanking him, put a hand in his pocket and pulled out a necklace. He threw it at the agent, who caught it automatically.

"Here. It's against demonic possession. Cas has one too".

Balthazar nodded and put it on.

Cas told himself not to be thankful. Dean was simply taking a precaution. That Balthazar was Cas' friend had nothing to do with it.

The day passed surprisingly easy after all. Maybe he had got used to not getting anywhere; but he suspected it had to do with Dean's presence. About an hour after he had returned from forensics, Balthazar had fallen out of his chair, the demon laughing.

They probably should have been afraid, but it was clear that Dean had only used his powers because he had been bored, and he had made sure Balthazar wouldn't hurt himself. As the agent himself put it, "Your powers aren't everything they are cracked up to be".

Dean had simply laughed, and so had they.

And Cas had found that his attempts to be civil and polite around the demon, without showing that he liked him, wouldn't work.

He really shouldn't indulge this attraction he had not asked for and that could come to nothing; but Dean was laughing, truly laughing, and he looked even better when he did.

Cas had seen him kill someone, and yet he still found him incredibly human.

Even he and Balthazar got on better than he had predicted; although, given Balthazar's taste for luxury, he should probably have expected that they would strike up a conversation about old-timers. He was content to sit back and listen – and pretend that they were working whenever a police officer opened the door.

He had the impression that Balthazar was beginning to genuinely like Dean against his will while still being wary of him. He couldn't blame him; even in the midst of a normal conversation, the demon could suddenly grow sullen or stare out of the window, the unfinished sentence telling of memories he would rather not think about. His friend had yet to incur his wrath, though, and Cas realized that Dean had grown much less prone to outbursts as the ones he'd had in his motel room or after Cas had trapped him.

Cas tried to think about the danger that awaited him, but it wasn't easy when Dean was laughing and it seemed like he had always worked with them.

Cas called the other PDs, making sure they knew what was going on. He still had to act like he was doing this the normal way, or Henricksen would pull him off the case. And he had to see this through to the end. He just had to.

Telling Balthazar what was going on had been unavoidable. But he still wished that he didn't have had to do it. He wouldn't get his friend to stay behind tonight, and he vividly remembered his encounter at Bobby's. If there was more than one demon –

Asking Balthazar to stay behind would be of no use. Once he'd put his mind to something, nothing could bring him not to do it. Cas should know. He had been the one explaining why he hadn't kept him from making a particular decision during an investigation more times than he could count.

When the sun set, Dean stood up.

"Might as well go back to the hotel. You need rest".

They didn't say anything but let Dean take the wheel, who seemed to be happy to drive.

Dean stopped on the way to the hotel; when Cas looked out the window, he realized the demon had stopped in front of a diner.

Before he could ask, Dean exclaimed, "Burgers and pie!" and left the car.

"Sometimes" Balthazar commented, "It is difficult to believe that he is a demon".

Cas had to agree.

Dean gulped down his food, his eyes shining when Cas explained that burgers made him happy.

He certainly did love unhealthy food, but he didn't indulge himself too often. And he felt that he would need all the strength he had.

Soon enough, they were back in the car, and when Balthazar gave Dean instructions to the hotel, Cas had a suspicion what they would find.

He was right. As always when Balthazar was the one to get them rooms – he had done so shortly after they had got to the PD from the crime scene – it was a much more expensive hotel than Cas would have picked.

Dean saw it and whistled.

"You guys get paid for this?"

"I have my ways" Balthazar replied and got out of the car.

Dean followed them.

"Might as well get a room too".

"I thought you didn't need one" Cas reminded him "and the Bureau isn't going to reimburse us for bringing a friend".

He suddenly realized that he had called Dean a "friend", albeit jokingly, but the demon didn't react.

"Relax, I got my own money".

"Really?"

"Well, it's not exactly legal – "

"And you don't think it will look strange when they find out?"

"I've been doing this for years" Dean told him. A shadow passed over his face. "Trust me. I ain't gonna get caught".

He would have to do with that reassurance, because Dean turned around and entered the hotel. Cas and Balthazar exchanged a look before hurrying after him.

Dean had no reason to book a room other than he wanted to. He'd never stayed at that nice a hotel, and he wouldn't have to hang around Cas' room until it was time to go.

He soon found, after he had told them to get some rest, that his expectations hadn't been too high. The room was airy and the bed softer than any he'd laid on since – well, ever.

He didn't need sleep, but he decided that he might as well take a nap, just to see how it felt.

He hadn't closed his eyes since he had got out of Hell, for fear that he would be there as soon as he did. He didn't even know if he could fall asleep.

As it turned out, it took surprisingly little effort, and his sleep was deep and dreamless.

When his alarm went off, he felt refreshed even though he hadn't needed it in the first place. He had forgotten the relief that the oblivion of sleep brought; he'd have to remember it for later when he was bored.

It was shortly before midnight, and he went to get the others.

He knocked on Cas' door first. When he didn't answer immediately, he extended his powers to test the defences and was glad to realize he must have put up protection.

Cas opened the door in a t-shirt and boxers, blinking.

"It's time" Dean informed him courtly, and went to Balthazar's door, telling himself that his voice hadn't faltered. Cas didn't look adorable when he had just woken up. Dean had never used the word as a human, and he sure as Hell wasn't going to now.

Balthazar opened the door fully dressed, and Dean wondered if he had slept at all.

He didn't say anything, simply nodded.

They walked back to Cas' room together.

Dean felt oddly satisfied that Cas didn't wear a tie. It was a precaution, of course; a tie was easy to hold on to in a struggle.

"Are you sure the demon will be there?" Balthazar asked once they were in the car.

Dean nodded. "They know I usually go to crime scenes in the night. And they know Cas is here, so they'll assume that he'll accompany me. You'll be the backup."

"I am not going to – "

"You'd get killed" Dean said bluntly.

"I'm – "

"Human".

"Cas is human too – "

"I know Cas can fight" Dean interrupted him. "I haven't seen you fight. You stay on the watch".

Balthazar was about to protest when he caught Cas' eyes. He sighed and acquiesced.

Dean was relieved. He would have one person less to look out for.

"There's a bag next to you" he said, waving towards the back seat over his shoulder. "Shotgun loaded with rock salt, extra cartridges. Should be enough to defend yourself until we are done. If things get too dangerous, leave".

Cas knew Balthazar too well to hope that would be the case. His friend would rather charge into the house if he realized they were in trouble. Since any remonstrance of his would be useless, he stayed silent.

They slipped past the guard without a problem. Before they entered the house through a window, Dean drew his knife out of his pocket.

"Here".

He handed it to Cas.

"They can easily kill you. Let's give you something that can kill them" he answered the unspoken question.

"What – "

"I know a thing or two" Dean replied evenly, and Cas couldn't help but feel worried. Dean had been a hunter – no, still was a hunter, in a way – and he possessed some powers, but he was neither the oldest nor the strongest demon they had encountered. He didn't want him to get hurt.

Dean sighed and pulled a knife out of his pocket.

"Iron. It won't kill 'em, but it will hurt like a bitch".

The relief he felt was shocking in its intensity – especially since Dean had only shown him that he had a weapon before they entered a house where most likely at least one demon was waiting for them.

Dean let his gaze wander over the house.

"I can't feel anything. Doesn't have to mean much. Some of them can conceal themselves."

"Especially the – stronger ones?" Cas asked hesitantly.

Dean nodded; Cas could barely see it in the darkness.

"Don't worry" he replied, a hint of sarcasm in his voice, "I won't let anyone get to you".

Despite the sarcastic tone, Cas had the feeling that he was sincere, and he swallowed.

"Ready?"

"Yes" he replied softly and then Dean was working on a window.

"Good defence" he mumbled. "Whoever was here, they were well trained".

This didn't serve to calm Cas' frantically beating heart. He had never run into situations where he didn't know what awaited him, where he didn't have a set of rules to fall back on.

Not until last week, anyway.

It was his choices that had brought him here, and he would see it through.

He didn't want anyone else to get hurt in the process.

"Anything?" he whispered when they had entered the room, Dean carefully making sure that he wouldn't get trapped.

"No" Dean whispered back. "If they are here-"

He trailed off, not having to finish the sentence. Cas understood. If there were demons here, they were strong.

They slowly moved through the house. No one was there.

Dean looked at him.

They had talked this over on the way to the crime scene, and he quickly took spray cans out of the bag he was carrying.

They had decided to fix some of the traps that had been broken, if they had the time; Dean would have to be careful, but there was no reason to think he couldn't avoid them even in the midst of battle.

They completed the sigil that had been under the living room carpet, right where they had found the body, and made certain it wasn't visible.

They sprayed a few others up-and downstairs too, according to Dean's suggestions; he knew where a demon was likely to look and where he would simply walk in.

Then they waited.

They waited for hours.

At four am, they came.

* * *

Balthazar was outside, wondering if he should go in. He'd been on his post for quite some time. All appeared quiet; he couldn't see or hear anything suspicious; but he would much rather be with Cassie. He had only a demon for protection, and while he admitted that Dean wasn't too bad, he'd rather have a human there with him.

It would have been preferable to stand guard in front of the house, but since that was where the police was, he couldn't do that. The demons couldn't go in there anyway, he told himself. A police man would notice. They had to, right?

He held the shotgun tighter. It was obviously homebuilt, and he couldn't help but doubt that rock salt would repel demons. Dean was right – he was new to this, and loathe as he was to agree with him, it was better if he stayed behind.

A shot rang out. It seemed to come from the front of the house, but he stayed at his position. He had promised.

He turned around. He could have sworn that he had heard something, but all was quiet.

The next time he turned around, this time sure that he had heard something, someone was standing in front of him.

He didn't even think; he simply fired.

The man stumbled back, but remained on his feet, and even in this dim light, Balthazar could see that there was something wrong with his eyes.

He then became aware that no one was running toward him. The PC they had avoided should have been there, alarmed by the shot.

He felt his heart beat furiously in his chest. He had always avoided such situations, had never been a good fighter; his reputation in the Bureau rested on his ability to manage with diplomacy and tact.

He hadn't even known if there was truly a demon before him when he had fired; but the thing hadn't even fallen down, and his dark eyes were proof enough.

"Balthazar Roché, isn't it? Agent Balthazar Roché?"

If he hadn't known before, he would have been sure now. This voice – so soft and yet threatening, so inhuman.

He swallowed.

"What if it is?"

"I just wanted to make sure" it softly said. "That rock salt hurt, by the way".

Balthazar fired another shot.

It stumbled back again, but advanced immediately.

"Your friend tried that. He had someone else there, though, so they put my meatsuit through too much. But you..."

Balthazar had managed to reload the shotgun and fired again. He already knew it was hopeless, but maybe it would alert Cas and Dean.

No such luck. No noise came from the house.

His thoughts went to the shot he had heard. What if –

The man smiled. From what he could see, he was tall and well-built, and it would have been difficult to get the better of him in hand-to-hand combat even if he hadn't been a demon.

It was inspecting its clothes; they were torn, and Balthazar could make out blood oozing through wounds, but it didn't look to bad in the dim light.

"You think they care" he continued, as if nothing had happened. "They don't. Well, Dean doesn't. And that other agent does everything he tells him. You're the decoy."

Balthazar knew that wasn't true – Cassie wasn't stupid, and he would never allow him to be used as a decoy, no matter what he personally thought of the demon – but the voice was getting to him. This slimy tone...

He raised the shotgun again. Where were Castiel and Dean? They couldn't be – No. Cassie was one of the best agents he had ever seen, and Dean was a demon. They were too strong to be killed just like that.

Suddenly the demon was no longer in front of, but behind him.

It put him in a chokehold.

He struggled, the shotgun falling to the ground. He couldn't die like this. He wouldn't die like this. Not when Cassie trusted him to guard the house.

His assailant didn't speak again, simply grasped him tighter, and Balthazar tried to get out –

He could feel a hand moving under the arm that held him, touching his neck –

* * *

Dean was the first to notice their presence. He didn't have to say anything; Cas could tell from the way his shoulders tensed.

He heard a shot sounding outside, and instinctively turned to investigate, but Dean grasped his arm. He pointed towards a hiding place and Cas reluctantly obeyed.

"Hey, Winchester".

Just as he had hidden behind the door, a demon strode in.

"Where have you left your pet?"

Cas fired. The demon fell down, cursing.

Another – a woman – charged at Cas out of nowhere. He drew the knife without a conscious thought.

She fell down dead.

He registered several more shots outside, but there was nothing he could do.

The demon he'd shot was advancing towards Dean; he slowly moved backwards, towards a hidden trap. The demon jumped and Dean moved sideways.

The demon was trapped. It howled and screamed, but it was trapped.

"The PC should have heard the shots" Dean informed Cas while the demon cursed, "they did away with him".

Cas nodded.

"So" Dean said, showing him the knife he'd pulled out of the woman's corpse, "Tell me who's behind this".

The demon laughed.

"They'd do worse to me than you ever could".

"I'll kill you".

"That'd be preferable".

Even as Dean was starting to respond, Cas could hear the howling of a siren from a distance.

Someone had called the police. They must have heard the shots.

Dean stabbed the demon, and it should have alarmed Cas that he accepted it without a second thought, but it didn't.

As soon as he dropped down, Cas remembered Balthazar.

He rushed out, Dean close at his heels.

"Balthazar?"

"Here" his friend called out, and he could have cried in relief.

Balthazar was standing in front of a body. He looked pale, but composed.

"I had to shoot – so many times... It left. He's dead".

"Are you alright?"

Balthazar nodded.

Cas kneeled down next to the time to check his vitals. Like Balthazar had said, he was dead.

Dean was standing next to him.

"I'll get rid of the bodies. Get out of here".

They moved quickly, even though Cas couldn't help but look over his shoulder. Dean was picking up the corpse. Balthazar gripped his arm.

"Cassie, let's go!"

He reluctantly allowed himself to be dragged towards the car. He knew he shouldn't have, but he wished he could stay to help. To help Dean.


	18. Chapter 18

He had to work fast.

That wasn't a problem; he had had to think quickly more often than not when he had been a hunter, and being a demon and working with Crowley meant that he had to be on his toes just as much now.

They wouldn't notice immediately that someone had broken into the house. He'd get rid of the guy that had attacked Balthazar first before taking care of the two bodies inside.

A moment later, he was dropping the man in a forest several hundred miles away before returning to the house.

There had been little blood; guy must already have been dead when Balthazar shot. Demons liked to ride them hard on purpose.

He didn't have to worry about any blood at the back of the house, at least.

There was still a commotion in front; he hadn't been gone for more than a minute. They were looking at their murdered colleague.

Dean knew what had happened, of course. They had come not only to take care of Cas, but of him as well; and in case they couldn't, they had shot the police man so there was a chance that others would come and arrest Cas.

They were clever, he had to give them that.

He quickly dropped the bodies somewhere far away, then tried to make everything appear like it hadn't been disappeared. There was blood, but not too much, and he could hide what he couldn't clean by moving the carpet. It was subtle enough not to be noticed.

Just as he heard someone exclaim "A window's open!" he went back to the hotel.

He sat down on the bed.

Something was troubling him.

The fight had been over quickly, and for a simple reason. It hadn't been difficult to trap one of them and kill the other one. And the last one had fled.

It was all so easy.

Too easy.

And yet not easy enough for Dean to suspect foul play automatically. They had been there to kill Cas and do everything in their power to stop him, he was sure of it.

But had they been sent with the demons behind them fully knowing that they wouldn't – that they couldn't? Had there been an ulterior motive?

Dean didn't know, and it made him uneasy.

The solution, as Crowley had pointed out, was simple: Get rid of Cas. In whatever way imaginable.

But he wouldn't.

He really was a poor excuse for a demon.

He laid down on the bed and closed his eyes, determined not to do anything until he knew Cas and Balthazar were back and safe.

* * *

Cas drove because Balthazar was still too shaky. He had seen much in his time as an agent, but he had never been attacked by a demon, and Cas understood.

Neither of them spoke for several minutes.

Then, Balthazar began, "That was – "

He broke off, unable to describe the experience. Cas nodded without taking his eyes of the road.

"And Dean is – "

"Taking care of the bodies, like he said" Cas interrupted him.

It was necessary to cover their tracks; he wished it wasn't, but he could do nothing about it. Dean was right. Having other people know about demons and stumble into situations they couldn't handle would be more dangerous than concealing the truth.

Cas thought about the people the demons had possessed. He had no way of knowing if they had been possessed with the plan to attack him, but it was possible.

He had to live with the possibility that they were dead because of him. This wasn't the same situation he had often faced at work. If he made the wrong choice as an agent, people died. He was used to that. But this – innocent people dying because they had been sent after him...

And the PC who had guarded the crime scene was dead too.

Dean showed little concern. In fact, Dean showed no concern at all when other people were involved. He cared about Bobby and he might care for Cas, but other than that –

He was a demon, Cas told himself. He should know better than to expect Dean to show remorse.

At least they had made it out of there alive.

And it hadn't been hard to. Well, that wasn't true. It had been dangerous, but –

Cas frowned. He concentrated on the road while chasing the half-formed suspicion in his mind.

They had had to fight. But it had been nearly as close as their encounter at Bobby's. Why? The demons had known they would come; had known Dean would be by his side. Why had they been easier to defeat?

Cas wasn't an idiot. He had seen enough tense situations to know when one didn't feel right. And this one didn't.

Of course, that could have to do with the fact that he had been attacked by demons. He would ask Dean. He was more likely to know when demons tried to kill you and when they simply pretended to do so.

"Penny for your thoughts, Cassie".

He glanced at Balthazar. His friend seemed to have got over his encounter with the demons. He had always bounced back quickly, which was why he was such an asset in the field.

"I'm tired" he told him. He was, and even though he knew he shouldn't begin hiding secrets from Balthazar – in addition to the ones he already did – there was no reason to make him share his doubts. Let him think they had won for now.

* * *

Dean was listening to every sound. Should he go look for them? But what good would it do to appear in the car? It would only scare them. They were protected.

The uneasiness wouldn't go away.

He paced up and down his room. He knew, of course, who he wanted to talk to in such a situation. The one he had trusted more than anyone else. The one he had sold his soul for.

It was impossible. There was someone else, though.

He pulled out his phone. Hesitated. How often had he dialled this number at night, when Sam was asleep and he had to talk about the latest hunt, Mum, Dad, the fight he and his brother had had?

Bobby had always picked up. And he'd always listened.

Would he now? Would he be happy to hear from him? Dean had nothing new about the ritual; he only had a feeling that the demons had decided to let them live. Hardly enough to warrant a phone call.

And yet he dialled.

Bobby picked up immediately.

"What?"

He had been sleeping. Dean glanced at his watch. Since he no longer needed sleep, time meant little to him. It was still hours to sunrise though, so of course Bobby had been in bed.

"I swear to God, if this is a prank – "

"Bobby" he interrupted him. "It's me". When he didn't get an answer, he continued, "Dean", sounding weaker than any demon had a right to sound.

"What is it, boy?"

If Bobby was surprised that he called, he didn't allow him to hear it.

"We escaped a few demons".

"Are you alright?"

He wondered if Bobby had forgotten what he was. This was just like many other conversations they had had at night time, far away from any curious ears.

"Yes" he said slowly, "But that's not – "

He stopped. He didn't know how to explain it.

"What do you mean?"

"It's just – Bobby, it was too easy. I don't mean that they didn't put up a fight, but still – it doesn't feel right".

There was a pause.

"Have you told Cas?"

"They're not back yet. I had to take care of the bodies – "

He explained what had happened. Afterwards, Bobby asked, "You think that was their agenda? Have Cas arrested? It would be easier to kill him in a cell."

"Sounds a little complicated for demons, don't ya think?"

As silence settled between them, Dean realized what he had just said. When he had got back from Hell, it hadn't been necessary to remind himself that he was a demon. It had been a fact, and he had even relished in the freedom it gave him. And here he was, talking to Bobby like he was still a human hunter and Sammy was in the bed next to his, sleeping.

"Maybe" the old hunter replied, and Dean didn't tell him that he was grateful for not commenting his slip-up.

"What then?"

"I don't know" Dean said slowly.

There was silence at the other end. This was where either he or Bobby should hang up, because everything had changed, only it hadn't. He was still fond of the old hunter, and Bobby still treated him like a son.

"How're you feeling?"

"What?" he asked stupidly.

He could almost hear the eye-roll. "I'm asking you how you are".

"Not bad" he replied, realizing it was true. Before he had met Cas and reconnected with what little of his humanity remained, he had been free, but not fine. Not happy. If such emotions even came to a demon –

Who was he kidding? He was far more human than he should be, and he was starting to suspect that it wasn't a bad thing. He might have been one of Alastair's minions now. Instead, he was fighting like he always had.

And while hadn't robbed him of everything that had made him a good hunter – the guilt that he'd always carried around with him had lessened considerably. At the beginning, he had been crushed by the knowledge that he tortured souls. After he'd turned, things had been different.

Torturing was something demons did. He had done so without remorse. Maybe there had been some in the beginning, but that had burned out quickly.

He wouldn't deny that he felt guilty now. It would be unnatural not to. He talked with humans on a daily basis and knew he had turned some of them into demons. Of course he felt guilty.

But it was not nearly the guilt that had rested on his shoulders before he went to Hell. Dad, Sam – whatever he'd done there, he'd done because he thought it was the right thing to do. And he had gone through enough for it.

So, really, he wasn't nearly as crushed as one would have expected from someone who'd been to Hell and back. He could fight.

And he was still Bobby's boy.

"Good to hear. Cas' fine too?"

"Yes" he replied. "He's used to getting attacked by demons by now, I think".

Bobby chuckled. "He's a good kid".

"Yeah" Dean agreed. "He is".

For a moment, he thought Bobby would want to talk about what Dean refused to even contemplate. But the old hunter didn't.

"About that feeling – "

Dean shrugged, even though Bobby couldn't see him.

"You think something is wrong?"

"Don't know. Maybe".

"The moment you're sure, or when you think you need help, you call me and I come. Clear?"

"Crystal. Thanks, Bobby".

"That's what I'm there for, boy".

They hung up.

The talk hadn't made the feeling disappear, but it had lessened it considerably. Dean smiled and sat down, ready to wait patiently for Cas' return.

* * *

Bobby hung up with a smile on his face as well. It had been a long time since he and Dean had talked like this. After... after he'd been gone, he'd spent many nights staring at the phone, waiting for it to ring. Dean to call and tell him that it had been a misunderstanding, that they hadn't buried him at all...

What he now had was not what he'd had in mind when he'd wished for him back, but it was close enough. And it seemed that he grew more human with every minute. Bobby wondered if Cas had something to do with that.

His fingers itched. Since Dean had left, he had picked up the phone countless times, half-dialling Sam's number before putting it down again.

It wasn't right to keep Sam in the dark. Dean was a demon. But that didn't mean his brother wouldn't want to know. Bobby and Sam kept in contact, although their talks were mostly short and to the point, and he always heard the hollowness in the younger Winchester's voice when he mentioned his brother; Sam would accept Dean, demon or not, and would be glad that he was back.

Dean didn't think so. But when had the boy ever accepted anything that might make him happy? Bobby would talk to him again, he decided. He would make him call Sam.

And then there was Cas.

Bobby was no idiot. He'd always known that Dean looked at the male percentage of the population too. So what? He still ganked demons and monsters.

And if someone deserved a nice FBI agent who could keep his ass safe, it was Dean. There was this whole "damning" thing, but honestly, Bobby didn't believe it. Murder someone? Sure. Making a demon deal? Sure. Loving someone? Not worth going to Hell for.

And he saw the signs. Cas was looking at Dean the same way.

He sighed, rubbing his face with his right hand. Here he was, worrying over the boys like he had always had.

And with a smile, he realized he wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

Balthazar retired immediately. Cas, who knew that he must be more shaken than he let on, let him go with a simple goodnight and went to knock on Dean's door.

The demon opened immediately. There was relief in his eyes, or at least Cas thought so.

"You got back in one piece" Dean observed after he had closed his door.

"Obviously".

"Took you long enough".

Cas frowned. "Not all of us can teleport".

Dean chuckled. "I suppose not". He was in an unusually good mood, even for the rather human demon that Cas had come to know lately.

"Did you – "

"I took care of them. No one will suspect anything happened in the house" Dean said.

Cas nodded. "I suppose we will be told of the PC's death tomorrow".

"Yeah" Dean confirmed, apparently not interested. Cas bit his lip. He couldn't be sure that Dean didn't care. But maybe he simply wanted him to, because Cas did.

They were silent. He should have moved towards the door. He didn't. He looked out the window, down at the floor, anywhere but at Dean.

"I suppose they'll step up their game soon" Dean said conversationally.

Cas looked at him.

The demon continued. "They still have to kill a few people, and they know we're on to them."

He was right. No one knew how many demons were working on completing the first part of the ritual. They knew about the hunters – and even if they didn't find enough, "those who fight against darkness" was open to interpretation, any police man could have been a target. There was no reason why they should wait any longer.

And they couldn't do anything about it. They were few, compared to the demons they had met so far. And there were so many potential victims.

Still, Dean was more unconcerned about it than Cas could ever hope to be. He supposed it was one of the differences between a human and a demon.

"Which leaves the second part..." Dean trailed off.

"Have you heard anything?" Cas asked, because discussing the deaths of more people would bring nothing. It was something he had learned in his job. Sometimes hopeless situations were simply that, and you had to live with it. They had to stop the ritual from being completed.

"Like I said, there's more than one way of throwing a town into chaos. If they're clever, they'll just bring out the booze and hookers."

"And? Did any town change in that way?"

Dean gave him a cheeky grin. "Do you think I'd be here then?"

Cas rolled his eyes. Dean grew serious.

"No. Of course you can't watch over every town. We don't even know what a "town" is according to the ritual. Might just be a few houses in a field, for all we know".

Cas massaged his temples.

"So we can't do anything?"

"I wouldn't say that. Once it begins – whatever it is – we move in. You can't throw a town into chaos in a second. We might be able to stop it."

"Might" was not good enough. Cas knew it. Dean knew it. Neither of them mentioned it.

"Anything on the third part?"

"Bobby's working on it" Dean replied, confident that the old hunter would translate the ritual. Cas couldn't help the small smile that appeared on his lips.

"What?"

"Nothing" he said quickly. "It's just – I like Bobby".

Dean stared at him, and Cas wondered why he'd said that. He simply couldn't act as calm as he usually did when he was around the demon.

He was expecting Dean to change the topic, but instead he said, "He likes you two. And it ain't easy making him like you".

"I'll take that as a compliment" Cas told him before he could stop himself, and Dean winked.

They were almost flirting. It was dangerous territory, and Cas decided to bring up the last part of the ritual again.

"Why is it so difficult to translate?"

The whole paper was hard to read; Cas was by no means deficient in Latin, but he had barely understood the first part that Dean and Bobby had translated with ease.

"It's heavy stuff. I guess whoever wrote it didn't want anyone who came along to understand it."

Cas nodded.

"You better get some sleep" Dean said. "We'll have to be up early tomorrow. Hearing the news and all".

There it was again – this distance right after they had talked amicably. Cas didn't understand. Why would the demon be so accessible one minute, so distant the next? But it was better this way. At least he wouldn't see things that weren't there.

Before the door closed, he heard Dean softly say, "Goodnight, Cas".

He replied accordingly and went to his room.

Dean was not as anxious as he had been before he called Bobby, but he was still a far way from relaxed. Why did Cas have to be so – Why did he have to understand him so well? He was human; and a good one at that; he shouldn't understand a demon, surely?

And even if he did, Dean shouldn't care.

He threw himself unto the bed and decided to get a few hours of shut-eye himself. They had shown their cards. It was time for the others to retaliate. Until then, there was nothing that could be done. Bela and Crowley knew how to reach him, Bobby would call if he got anything out of that text.

He closed his eyes and hoped for a once more dreamless sleep.

* * *

He liked this new meatsuit.

The last one had served him well, but the soul of the man had given up to quickly; there had been so struggle, no challenge. This one, though – he screamed and he fought and he stayed conscious no matter what he did.

His own personal soul to torture. It was delicious.

He felt the man once more attempting to regain control over his body. The fun was that he actually had a chance. Most demons could possess any human without problems, because weak humans made good meatsuits and were chosen most often. But this one –

He enjoyed it when he did. The knowledge that the human might win, that he might send him away – it was what made possession exciting. He always made sure, when he was lucky enough to find someone willing to fight, that they could win. It was so much more delicious to crush their hope again and again, feel the disappointment reverberate through the meatsuit than simply hop in and take control.

He had always preferred angry pupils, too. Pupils who might turn the knife on him; pupils who were strong enough so that this was a threat and not simply and annoyance.

Dean Winchester had been a wonderful pupil. How he had screamed when he had first been put on the rack – how he had refused, for years, to become one of them; how he had finally given in, and how even when he had, Alastair had seen the pain in his eyes, known how much this cost him.

Dean Winchester had not lived up to his expectations, though. He had thought he had made a good demon out of him – had believed him to enjoy torturing just as much as he did; and Dean Winchester had escaped and done nothing. He could have wreaked havoc and he had done nothing.

The disappointment was part of the game too, however. Without the option of failure, torture would lose its edge; if the torturer was always sure that he could break the one in front of him, it became a matter of fact, not the art as that Alastair had come to think of it.

He might be disappointed and angry, but he was also excited. He would finally break Dean Winchester.

If he could have killed his brother, things would have been easier, but there was still some hope in the lower ranks that the Apocalypse would take place after all and strict orders had been given out not to touch the younger Winchester. Alastair enjoyed a challenge. He didn't mind.

And what he had planned now –

It was perfect. Utterly perfect. Dean had a soft spot for that FBI agent. He was still too human to see how unworthy they were.

And how easily breakable. He would break Dean through the agent. He would see him utterly and completely destroyed. He hadn't decided if he was going to kill him yet. A broken Dean Winchester could be moulded. And he had seen him torturing souls. He had promise. He could become great.

But he had to break first. He had made the mistake to believe him already broken. He wouldn't do it again.

He looked at his watch. They were late. He didn't tolerate unpunctuality. He would wait, though. Punishment was more delicious if carried out when the victim didn't expect it. And he wasn't supposed to hurt anyone that worked for them. Not yet.

The other demons appeared. He didn't turn around. He waited for them to talk.

One of them cleared his throat, slowly walking closer.

"What?" he asked calmly. He was always calm, never angry. It unsettled them more than if he had screamed.

"We were told to report to you..."

He turned around. He could see their desire to take a step back and gloried in it.

"It's time to take the next step" he told them.

None of them said anything as he explained the plan to them. He wouldn't have wanted them to.

* * *

Cas stood up after two hours of sleep. He wasn't feeling tired. They had to go to the station.

He woke up Balthazar with a knock – his friend, who had never been an early riser, grumbled something unintelligible – and moved towards Dean's room.

He didn't expect the demon to open the door with a bed head, rubbing his eyes. He looked sleepy and human, and Cas felt his heart beat faster.

This was getting out of hand.

"You slept?" he asked.

Dean shrugged. "Realized I could, saw no reason not to".

They left it at that.

The station was brimming with activity. They were informed courtly what had happened, then left to their own devices. It was better to get out of the way; the police were investigating the death of one of their own, and they wouldn't appreciate their involvement.

It was good they weren't busy. When another department called, the officer who picked up the phone didn't bother what they wanted, simply put them through to them.

The same with the next department. And the next.

In the course of a little more than two hours, the demons had killed five people.

The first part of the ritual was complete.


	19. Chapter 19

Cas wasn't surprised. After a few years, one never was. And he had been expecting it, Dean had been expecting it.

"Should we..." he began, trailing off.

Dean had just put down the receiver; he had picked up the phone and introduced himself as an agent every single time without anyone making a movement to stop him.

He looked at Cas.

"You should" and the agent knew it was ridiculous to feel sad that Dean meant him and Balthazar and had his own plans, "at least one. You can have the evidence sent in from the others".

"It is about time we return to Headquarters anyway" Balthazar said, and Cas needed a moment to understand that he meant Kansas and not Quantico.

Dean raised an eyebrow. He caught Cas' eyes, but looked away immediately.

Cas was confused. Dean looked ashamed. What –

He understood, and he tried not to be glad. He didn't succeed.

Dean wanted to come with them, but he couldn't. There were people in Lawrence who knew him. Cas had met one. He couldn't impersonate an agent like he was doing here.

The demon cleared his throat and the moment was lost. Cas was aware that he had been staring at Dean, and he felt Balthazar's eyes on him. He quickly looked away, hoping that turning his head would conceal his blush.

"Call your boss, let him know you're working".

Cas had almost forgotten about his job. After years and years during which he had been the perfect FBI agent, he had forgotten about his job, forgotten that he was supposed to catch a killer, not save the world. The two might be intertwined, but still –

"I'll call Henricksen" Balthazar announced and left the room. Cas frowned – had his friend given Dean a suspicious look?

"What are you going to do?" he asked once the door had closed behind the other agent.

"Looking for the demon" Dean said, "And damn it if I don't feel like I said that ten times already!"

He grabbed a chair and threw it against a wall. When Cas moved towards him, he flashed him his black eyes.

"I just can't win, can I?" he snarled. "Even as a demon – why does the world continually have to be about to croak?"

Cas stood still. He knew the Dean he'd worked with during the last few days – a human Dean. But Dean wasn't human. He was a demon. And he was angry.

Cas had witnessed his outbursts before, but he had never thrown anything. It was good that the PD, in a gesture of defiance that the FBI had come, had put them in a small office at the back of the building. No one had heard. Otherwise, they would be here already.

"Dean" he said calmly. If the demon decided to attack him – to use his powers on him – there wasn't much he could do. But Dean was not one of the demons he had fought. He knew Dean. At least he believed so. Chose to believe so.

He took a step back when Dean's gaze fixed on him and he realized that the demon didn't recognize him. He didn't know how to snap him out of it. He swallowed.

"It's not your fault" he continued. Thankfully Balthazar had left the room. Two of them might have made him attack.

There was the wildness in his eyes that Cas had seen when they had first met.

Dean stared at him, then slowly moved, like an animal towards its prey.

He took one step back. Then another. His back pressed against the wall. The demon was between him and the door.

Dean came to a stop about a metre in front of Cas and the agent wondered if he could reach the door. It was unlikely.

Dean was breathing heavily. He closed his eyes and clenched his fists. After a few seconds, he opened his eyes and Cas saw with relief that they were green once more.

"Son of a – "

Dean quickly walked back and picked the chair up from the floor. He inspected the wall to make sure he hadn't left a dent, then sat down at the table. He put his head in his hands.

He looked so defeated that the fear Cas had felt was gone as quickly as it had come. He sat down next to him. Dean didn't look up.

He didn't speak.

After a few moments Cas asked, "Are you okay?"

It was then that Dean looked at him. He laughed – a short, bitter laugh that Cas didn't like – and answered, "Yeah. Almost attacked you and all, and here you are making sure I'm fine. I'm peachy".

"What – " Cas began. He didn't know what to ask. The knowledge that Dean had in fact been about to attack him should have scared him, but it didn't. Dean was looking at him, sadness and defeat in his eyes, and it was difficult to remember that he had been threatening him just a minute ago.

Dean shrugged.

"I'm a demon. I get angry".

Cas knew he wouldn't say more and left it at that. They sat in a companionable silence until Balthazar returned. He was frowning.

Cas looked at him.

A smile passed his friend's face.

"Don't worry, we're still on the case. Henricksen isn't impressed, though. We'll go to the crime scene in Arizona, other teams will check the others and coordinate with us".

Cas sighed. He preferred small teams. It wasn't that he was incapable of working with others, but he needed to think his own thoughts, and when those of others were constantly being thrown around, that was difficult.

It could be worse, however. He hadn't spoken to Henricksen in days and they hadn't made any progress. At least they were still on the case.

"I'll see if my informants have anything" Dean said and vanished. Cas realized that he wanted to be alone.

"Does he usually leave like that?" Balthazar inquired.

"Not always" Cas said softly and thankfully, his friend understood that he didn't want to continue.

* * *

It had been a long time since he had endangered anyone. Okay, so he was a demon and could not be considered safe by any standards, but he rarely been so angry that he would slash out at the person being in the room with him – and he'd either been alone or taken down a shifter's nest on the occasion.

This time, though, Cas had been there. And Dean had almost attacked him.

He could have killed him.

He had realized he had failed, and he had simply got angry. Even as a human, he hadn't managed his anger very well; and now, his inhibitions gone, all he had been able to feel was a deep sense of disappointment, frustration and a fire that burned through his veins and told him to _kill, kill, kill._

He had no idea what had snapped him out of it. One minute, he had been a demon, advancing towards a victim; the next he had been Dean Winchester, looking at someone he knew, someone he had been about to hurt.

He had left as quickly as he could.

He went to the clearing he often came to when he needed peace.

His heart was beating fast, even though it had no reason to. Why did he have to be _kind_? He had almost hurt him, he had proven how dangerous he was – why did Cas have to be kind? Why did he have to sit next to Dean, why was he so understanding, making him –

It didn't matter. The first part of the ritual was complete. They had to work fast.

He was about to leave when he felt it. A demon behind him. And not just any demon.

"Crowley" he said, sounding as annoyed as he felt. The demon would be angry no matter what, he didn't have to be polite.

"Dean" he replied. "You have not been doing a very good job".

"I can't watch over every hunter in the country" he snapped.

"No, but you can watch over your old friend and your cute agent. That doesn't exactly tell of work moral".

Dean didn't answer. Crowley would come to the point eventually. He hadn't looked at him. He wouldn't turn around.

Crowley appeared before him. He didn't look angry, but one could never know. Dean casually put his hand in his pocket and grasped his knife, a motion not missed by the other demon.

It was the one leverage he had, if he was honest. Crowley was more powerful than him. Even he wouldn't survive the knife, though.

"Anyway" he said smoothly, "Now that they have completed the first part, they need to throw a town into chaos. Any ideas?"

"I was about to contact Bela".

"She's in pretty deep right now" Crowley told him."She might finally be close to getting admitted."

"What, to the guy's group".

"Correct".

This was good news. If they finally had an inside man... But they still had to worry about the ritual.

"You've been longer at this than I" he said. "Don't you know how to throw a town into chaos?"

"I stand for stability, mate. I do not appreciate chaos. And even if I did, there are many ways".

"I know" Dean sighed. "Any chance they're gonna take the obvious approach?"

A look from Crowley was enough. It would have been too much to hope that they would go the way of those who had turned into a town full of hookers and booze. They were too subtle for that. If Crowley hadn't been as clever and careful as he was, he wouldn't even known there was a demon waiting to bring Hell to earth before the killings started.

"Better figure it out soon" Crowley said, but it was not an order or a threat. He was in just as much danger as Dean, should the other guy win.

He nodded and Crowley left.

He sighed. He would have to go to the crime scenes. He would keep Cas' for last; they could meet there.

* * *

It was frustrating. They knew what was going on and yet had to travel to another crime scene that would bring them nothing.

They were sent a private jet because of the several crimes that had taken place that night. As they boarded, Cas wondered what would be the working theory of the team. Most likely they would assume that a cult was behind this – something like the Manson family. They wouldn't be that wrong, all things considered.

Balthazar still didn't know the whole truth. He could have told him, but it would have brought them nothing. He knew even less than Cas about demons.

They would have to see what Dean found out.

Cas, who had always been patient, decided that he hated waiting.

He barely caught the name of the city they were travelling to, and he hated himself for it. Before all this, he had known everything there was to know about a case. Of course, now it didn't matter. If it hadn't been this victim, it would have been someone else.

"Cas?"

Balthazar was a good friend, and he knew when Cas didn't want to talk. He usually talked anyway though.

"We should have – "

"What? Prevented it? A demon couldn't do it" he reminded him.

"I know" Cas said, "I know". But knowing didn't make it better, and that made him angry.

"It's not about..." Balthazar trailed off.

"What?" Cas asked impatiently.

"It's not about Dean leaving, is it?"

It wasn't. It _wasn't_. He might have been frustrated that the demon had left – more than he had any right to be, more than he should be – but mostly it was about the case.

"It isn't" he said, looking out of the window.

This time, Balthazar didn't press.

It was the same. Just the same as at any other crime scene they had visited during this case. A DI, a house, an eviscerated corpse. That was it.

He let Balthazar do the talking and went through the rooms of the house.

She had been a middle-aged woman, attractive. Leslie Hetters. She had been living alone, but was popular in the neighbourhood.

There were many books, far more than at any of the other crime scenes, and not only ones about lore, either. She had been an avid reader.

He hoped that Dean would find something. Another killer would bring nothing – they had to get the demon who was behind this, who wanted to bring Hell on earth.

Once they had him, he was sure Dean could win. He had the knife, and he was a good fighter; he would win.

Castiel could have worried about trusting Dean more than he did himself. He chose not to.

* * *

Dean had enough. He had spent hours zapping from crime scene to crime scene. There was nothing.

Demons never left traces, so he didn't know why he even bothered.

He walked through the house of the fourth victim after the forensics had left. He had known him. He'd been a good hunter. They had paired up a few times when Sam had been at Stanford.

He wouldn't have cared a few weeks ago.

He left the house. He couldn't think. He had nothing.

If only he had someone to talk to – someone who could look at this with fresh eyes, rather than –

There was someone, of course. Someone Dean had always talked to when he got stuck on a case. And he didn't mean Bobby.

That person had been working with him then, however, and he couldn't –

He realized he was staring at the house where Sam lived. He hadn't made a conscious decision to teleport there. In fact, he had wanted to go back to the clearing, see if he could reach Bela. Now he stood looking at his brother's windows, transfixed.

He had no reason to be there. Crowley had said Sam was safe, and the flat was demon proof. Dean had made sure of that.

This stupid humanity. And that stupid agent with these stupid blue eyes and that stupid badass attitude that made him remember it...

He shook himself and disappeared. He didn't look back longingly one last time before vanishing. He _didn't_.

* * *

Sarah Blake had left the auction house as soon as she could. In a way, it was her and Sam's anniversary.

She was not coming home early to celebrate, though. Their anniversary was not the usual happy affair.

It was the fourth anniversary of the day Sam had shown up on her doorstep, trembling, and told her about Dean.

She hadn't known Dean well, but she had seen enough to realize he was a good man. He had sold his soul for his brother.

He was in Hell now. Hell. Sam said that souls who went to Hell became demons eventually.

It was almost too awful for her to contemplate. She couldn't imagine what Sam was feeling.

The rarely spoke about it. Mostly after he'd had a nightmare and woken her up with his trashing. The only time they pronounced Dean's name was in the middle of the night, into the darkness where it could gently vanish.

Most of the time, they managed to be happy regardless. But sometimes...

Sometimes, she could see a shadow in his eyes. He would leave and take the Impala for a drive, and she would go to work or meet friends or stay home, and the knowledge would be there, taunting her. Dean's soul in Hell was the price for their happiness.

And today would be a difficult day.

Her father, naturally, had told her that she didn't have to go. After all, it was already their fourth anniversary.

He wasn't very happy about their relationship. She couldn't have cared less.

Sam hadn't gone to work today. The Impala wasn't there when she got home. He would return in his own time, she knew.

She stepped out of her heels and threw her purse on the sofa.

She poured herself a glass of wine and told herself that she wouldn't think about Dean. But she always did, on days like this. She couldn't help it.

She walked to the window.

She let her glass drop.

By the time she had picked it up and cleared the wine of the carpet, _he_ was gone.

But Dean had been there. He had been standing on the street, looking at their window.

It was not possible. Dean was dead. In Hell.

Unless –

No. It took hundreds of years for souls to turn into demons, Sam had said. It couldn't have happened so quickly.

And his body was under the earth. Gone. Even if he came back, he wouldn't be Dean; he would be a demon who would possess someone.

And he wouldn't come back. Not for years, not until everyone he had known was long gone. She clung to that knowledge. She had thought about him. That was why she had seen him. He hadn't been there.

There was no point in troubling Sam about it. She had learned a little about what was out there from him – but what was impossible was impossible. And Dean coming back was impossible.

She heard the Impala's engine. Sam was back.

She turned away from the window, determined to greet him with a smile.

* * *

Dean was furious. He hadn't got hold of Bela, and Crowley wouldn't answer his calls.

He could feel the anger that was always present in a corner of the burned and black thing that used to be his soul gaining over his rational mind, urging him to behave like a demon. But he refused to. A killing spree wouldn't help them.

He could go to Cas, but that wouldn't bring anything. He and his friend were working. And now that others were coming, Dean couldn't risk pretending that he was an agent.

He knew where he wanted to go, but he'd only just been there and there was nothing for him.

Bobby's, then.

Bobby was pouring over the ritual when someone started pounding on his door. Not knocking, pounding. He stood up and walked towards it purposely slow. Whoever was there could wait.

It was Dean.

And for a moment, Bobby was afraid.

Not because he had black eyes; no, they were the green Bobby was so familiar with; but because there was a wildness in them he hadn't witnessed yet, one that had stared at him from countless demons' faces.

And yet – he was leaning on the door. He looked like the boy Bobby had taken in so often over the years.

"Let me in, would you?"

Bobby shook himself. Of course he couldn't step in – his house was safe. Without hesitation, he cleared a path for him.

Dean walked into the house stiffly, breathing a sigh of relief as soon as he was in.

"These sigils I put in the Yard – they really take it out of you".

Bobby didn't comment. He had noticed them and done some research. As soon as he noticed how old and powerful they were, he had known Dean had wanted to protect him.

They wouldn't keep a demon away, not exactly, but make him weak, which explained Dean's heavy breathing and his pale cheeks.

By the time they entered the living room, he was his usual self.

"So, old man, anything new on the ritual? Because let me tell you, we have a problem".

"Other hunters" Bobby said tensely, "I know".

His phone hadn't stopped ringing all morning. Even Rufus Turner, who had retired to become an old grunt who sold stuff when he was bored, had called to ask what the hell was going on. Bobby had told them all a little, but not the whole truth. Most wouldn't understand that he worked with a demon.

"Geoffrey Tames – you knew him, didn't you?"

And Dean reacted like he would have expected Dean to react, not a demon. He looked out the window and said calmly, "Yeah" even though it was clear that he cared.

Bobby felt that it would be wrong to smile, but he could barely keep himself from doing so.

"Any idea as to the demon who's behind it?"

"Don't you think I would have called?" Dean asked, and it was obvious that for a moment, he had forgotten what he was. He was simply Dean Winchester, who would have called Bobby the moment he learned something.

But there was something – Dean hadn't come about the ritual. It may be the end of the world, but this wasn't what this was about. Bobby knew the boy.

He poured him a glass and held it out to him.

Dean took it and swallowed down half before saying, quietly, "I went to Sam's place today".

Bobby's heart beat faster. Had Dean spoken to Sam? But why would he come to Bobby looking so dejected? Sam wouldn't – Sam hadn't sent him away, surely?

He made a noncommittal noise and Dean continued, "I didn't even mean to go there. I just – one minute I was investigating, next I was staring at his stupid apartment."

"Navigation off?" Bobby asked innocently. Dean shot him a dark look.

"I'm baring my soul here".

"No" he pointed out, "You are telling me that you stood in front of your brother's flat and were too scared to go in."

"How do you – "

"If you had talked to him, you would have told me immediately".

Dean grumbled something and gulped down the rest of his whiskey before letting himself fall on a chair in front of the desk and pouring himself another glass.

"What good would it do?"

"Sam was always better at languages than you or me" Bobby pointed out, "and a pair of fresh eyes couldn't hurt".

"He got out".

"Because you were gone".

"I still am".

"Only because – "

"No" Dean said slowly, looking up. His eyes were black. Bobby no longer flinched.

"The brother he knew is gone. I am a demon. I can feel it. The rage, the urge to inflict pain – it's there. I'm no better than the others."

"Yes you are" Bobby said firmly. He could see that Dean wanted to argue. He continued before he could. "Because that rage you talk about? It's there. Of course it's there. You were in _Hell_ , Dean, everyone would be angry. But here you are, trying to save the world. Why aren't you with the others? Why aren't you trying to help them?"

"Because –" Dean began to answer. He stopped. Tried to think of something to say.

"Because you are a good man. Or demon. Whatever. Thing is, boy, what you have in you – Hell couldn't burn it away. You're still kicking. You're still the Dean Winchester who'd eat all my pie and tinker around with my cars".

Dean smiled at the memory. Bobby did as well.

"And now we need help. And where do you go to when you need help? Your brother".

Dean looked at him. His eyes were still black. Bobby downed his whiskey and waved a hand in the air.

"He'll have to get used to it. Like I did. But in the end, he'll be glad to have you back." Bobby was sure, even if he hadn't been before. Sam and Dean had grown up together, fought together. Sam would be happy that Dean was back. He would get used to his brother being a demon.

When Dean didn't answer, he added, "Cas doesn't have a problem with it".

"Cas didn't know me before".

"And? You still got all your annoying traits".

A smile passed over Dean's face. Bobby knew he'd almost got him. He wanted to see his brother, and now they had a reason for him to go there – the ritual. Sam was an excellent hunter. He would be a great help.

"The only thing I can think of is him throwing a fit because you didn't come to him immediately".

Dean stood up abruptly and changed his eyes to green.

"Fine. But don't blame me if all Hell breaks loose".


	20. Chapter 20

Sarah had been at home for an hour when she heard the rumble of the Impala. She hadn't expected him back so early; it was a good sign. Sometimes when he got into one of his moods, he would stay away until long after nightfall.

She hadn't cooked anything, knowing that it was likely he had no appetite. She didn't have much of one, either.

Her eyes fell on the picture of them on the table next to the sofa. They had taken it on their last holiday. It had been a good day.

There were no pictures of Dean in their flat. She had never asked if Sam even had any. She knew Bobby kept one of the boys in a prominent place in his living room. She had met the old hunter a few months after she and Sam had got together, and she liked him a lot.

But it wasn't like they needed pictures to think of Dean.

She greeted Sam with a smile. He looked tired. He hadn't slept last night. Every time she had woken up, he had still been awake. She had been able to tell from his breathing.

She gave him a kiss. Neither of them had said a word.

He held her, and she could feel him trembling.

He cleared his throat and strengthened his spine.

"What's for dinner?"

She smiled.

"I haven't decided yet". She looked at him and her eyes softened.

"I was thinking about making burgers".

Making burgers had become more than a simple indulgence when her or Sam didn't feel like eating healthy; it had become a ritual, a way to honour Dean.

He smiled, albeit weakly.

Sarah moved into the kitchen and heard him walk to the window. He always looked out to make sure the Impala was parked well.

It was then that she heard his gasp.

He ran to their bedroom; when she left the kitchen, he rushed out, a bottle of holy water in his hands.

"Sam?"

"Stay here" he told her and left.

She ran after him.

What she saw made her stand still.

Dean was standing in the street, his back to them. He was looking at the Impala.

* * *

Dean teleported himself to a few streets down off Sam's and Sarah's apartment block. He wanted to walk to their door. On the off chance that one of them looked out of the window, he didn't want to freak them out by appearing in front of them.

His baby was parked in front of the building, where he had seen it a few times before; but now when he didn't have to rush, he decided to indulge himself a little.

"You are a sight for sore eyes" he told her lovingly, running his hand over her hood. Sam had taken good care of her. She looked spotless.

He looked in through the driver side's window.

Was that – an MP3 player?

"Baby, what did he do to you?"

He heard steps behind him and turned around.

His brother threw holy water into his face. He fell against the Impala, hissing, smoke coming from his wounds.

He was doused in even more holy water and blindly grabbed for the bottle. Sam took his arm and drew him away from the Impala. He could have resisted, but he didn't want to hurt his brother.

"What are you?" Sam hissed.

"Not really that difficult, is it?" Dean asked. "Already forgot all about demons?"

The answer was another dose of holy water.

"You know what I mean" Sam said coldly.

"I'm Dean" he answered calmly. "Your brother".

Sam didn't throw any more water on him. He stood still, his hand beginning to tremble.

Sarah stepped up, stood next to him. Dean hadn't noticed her before.

Sam said, "I told you – "

"As if I would stay in the flat".

Dean smiled. He liked Sarah.

"You – you're not" Sam began to stammer.

"Why don't we talk in the flat?" Sarah suggested. Sam looked at her as if she had lost her mind.

"If he wanted to attack us, he would already have done it" she pointed out.

She didn't touch Sam, knowing that it wouldn't help. She waited until his shoulders relaxed.

"Fine. But he's going first".

Dean nodded. "Just one thing..."

He instructed Sarah to scratch away one of the sigils he had put up at hidden places. The others would still weaken him, but he would be able to enter the flat.

Sarah left and Sam and Dean stared at one another. Sam was still clutching the bottle. Dean wanted to say something, but he wasn't sure what. He didn't want to have more holy water thrown at him. The kid was too careless. He couldn't just run into a public space and throw holy water on a demon. And the bottle was the only weapon he had.

Sarah came back, telling them she'd scratched away the sigil under the window sill, and they made their way into the flat.

Dean could feel the symbols pulling at his powers, like at the Salvage Yard, but it wasn't too bad. He kept his eyes fixed on Sam. He had known his brother wouldn't be happy about seeing him a demon, but he had hoped for a better reaction.

"I'm going for a walk" Sarah said. They both turned around.

"You need time alone" she added, and Dean knew that she believed him. He didn't know why, but she did, and she wanted him and Sam to talk.

His brother didn't deserve this girl.

"Call me if you need me" she said gently, kissing Sam. Before she left, she gave Dean a tiny nod.

And then they were alone.

* * *

Sarah walked down the stairs slowly. She had seen Dean after all.

And it was Dean. She knew Sam was sceptical. But the way he had looked at her boyfriend... That was Dean. The proud older brother who had done everything for Sam. That was Dean.

Dean was a demon.

It didn't take hundreds of years for people to turn. It took barely four.

And yet –

Dean hadn't fought back. Dean had retreated. Dean didn't want to hurt Sam. Dean recognized Sam. Dean had stood in front of the car, that according to Sam he had had an almost obsessive love for.

Dean was still Dean.

And Sam needed Dean.

She hoped that they would work it out.

* * *

He half-expected Sam to force him to walk into a devil trap, but nothing happened. The heard Sarah's footsteps receding, the door of the building closing, and none of them had yet said a word.

He smiled.

"Heya, Sammy".

"Don't call me that" Sam barked, and it felt like a stab in the gut. Dean forced himself to take a few slow breaths. He didn't need them anymore, but it calmed him down.

"Why not? You said I was allowed to".

"I said _my brother_ was allowed to".

"Who I am, coincidentally".

Sam looked at him, disgust in his eyes, and Dean forced himself not to take a step back.

"Remember the toy soldier in the Impala's ashtray?"

For a moment, there was doubt in Sam's eyes, but then his expression hardened again.

"You were looking at my car" he said calmly, "You saw it".

Dean rolled his eyes.

"I was checking she was okay. Who allowed you to put a MP3 player in my Baby?"

Sam was taken aback by the response. Dean knew that he would come up with an argument to refute what he was saying, so he quickly added, "Dad gave you a computer for your eleventh birthday. It was the crappiest thing ever, but you still almost blew a fuse over it. Had to put the damn thing up in every motel room we were in".

That was it. No demon would know such a thing. No demon would care to learn such a thing. He saw Sam pale; the bottle of holy water fell out of his hand.

"Dean?"

"The one and only" he said, watching his brother. Sam couldn't hurt him, but he still didn't want to get punched.

But instead of fighting, arguing, beginning to scream or sending him away (the worst case scenario that Dean had feared) Sam began to cry.

He didn't sob; the tears ran quietly down his cheeks, like all those years ago when Dean had told him the truth about monsters.

This was worse than screaming. Dean reached out, Sam stepped back.

He let his hand drop.

"You're a demon" Sam said, the tears still running.

"Yes."

"But I thought it takes a long – "

"It does. Time passes differently there. I spent about 440 years there".

Sam stopped crying, but it wasn't because he was feeling better – if anything, it was because of the shock. Dean could still read him better than anyone else.

He tried to repeat the number, but couldn't.

Dean nodded.

"When I got out, I thought – " He stopped. He hadn't looked at the date when he had got out. After he had met Crowley he had realized that less than four years had passed since his death. Until then, he hadn't thought about it. Tried not to think about it. He had come back to earth with the opinion that his brother was dead, and he had chosen not to think about it. And then he had learned what year it was, and he had gone searching for Sammy.

He'd almost called out to him when he found him. He'd stood in the shadows as Sam left his flat, and he'd opened his mouth, and then he'd realized what he was and what Sammy would think, and he couldn't.

Sam would see a monster. The things they had always fought against. Dean couldn't see it. Dean couldn't stand there, see the disgust in his eyes.

And yet here he was. And not only because Sam knew a lot and would be useful, but because he wanted to. Because nothing could keep him from his brother. Because he had already known, even as he turned around, that he would go to Sam eventually.

He didn't have to finish the sentence. Sam knew.

Suddenly, his brother looked surprised. When Dean realized this was because Sam had thought he wouldn't care, he decided this was it. Sam had a right to be afraid, but Dean had a right to be angry.

"Forget it" he said gruffly. "Just forget this ever happened. Have fun at the wedding. I hope you find a dress your size".

He turned around and was about to disappear when he felt a hand on his arm.

"Dean?" His brother sounded small. The demon looked him in the eyes.

"How did you know about the wedding? And what was this about the sigils?"

He rolled his eyes. "Did you really think I would leave you without protection? You should really have kept a better watch; how come you didn't notice them? That's hardly Winchester quality."

Sam didn't say anything. He enveloped him into a hug. Dean hadn't realized how much he had missed these hugs until now.

They stood there for a few moments before Sam pulled back.

"You're here" he said, the tear tracks still evident on his face, grinning.

Dean nodded.

"You're really here – by God, Dean, I – I tried, I did, and I couldn't – "

"Forget it, bitch" he interrupted him.

"Jerk" Sam shot back automatically.

They grinned at each other.

"So... Demon".

"Yep."

"What can you do?"

Dean almost rolled his eyes again. Of course that was what Sam would ask. He'd always been one for learning.

"Teleport, move stuff" he said. "I'm not one of the more powerful ones, but I get by". He didn't mention the torture. He had tortured in Hell, he had tortured for Crowley, but that wasn't something he would bring up now, when Sam seemed to accept him.

"Why didn't you come earlier?"

That question made him almost want to think about talking about torture again. Almost.

It was loaded with guilt and something else, a reluctance he didn't know how to explain properly.

"I didn't expect you to react so – " he waved a hand in the air.

"I suppose – " Sam looked away. "Sorry about the holy water".

"Hey, if I were human, I'd gank my own ass".

Sam winced, but it was true. Dean needed him to accept that he was a demon, completely, not act like he wasn't.

"Not that I'm not glad you've come, but... why now?"

He almost asked him if he needed a reason, but Sammy was right.

"Hell's on the rise".

Sam stared.

"Well, don't sugarcoat it".

"If I'd known you' d grown so soft..."

"Shut up" Sam said. "What do you mean?"

He explained about the ritual.

"They already completed the first part, we don't know what "throwing a town into chaos" means, and Bobby is working on translating the third trial".

"Bobby?"

He hadn't mentioned him before, he suddenly realized.

"Bobby knew you were alive?"

"Not for long" he replied simply. "And I didn't want him to tell you."

Sam sat down, rubbing his face with his hands. "Dean..."

"I'm sorry" he said quietly. He meant it. Sam's presence did him good; despite the tense situation, he hadn't been this relaxed in a long time, not since before he went to Hell. The closest he'd come to it had been with –

He cleared his throat, both to dispel the silence and the thoughts. But it had reminded him that he needed to tell Sam something else.

"I have – " he began and broke off. In the next moment, he was angry at himself for doing so. It wasn't a big deal. Cas wasn't a big deal.

"I have been working with the FBI" he finished his sentence.

Sam looked at him, obviously waiting for him to continue.

As always, it annoyed Dean. It was almost like his stunt in Hell hadn't happened – when his little brother was annoying, he was annoying.

"I know what I'm doing. Cas ain't bad."

"Cas?"

There was understanding in Sam's eyes, understanding that he really didn't want to see.

"Castiel Novak. He ran into a crime scene, I saved his life – long story, but we're working together."

Sam bit his lip. Dean wasn't surprised. If Bobby knew, so did Sam. But they were wrong. Cas was hot, sure, but he deserved better than a demon. Dean wasn't blind. He'd seen the way the agent looked at him, the blushes. So what? Nothing could come of it. He didn't even know if he might send him to Hell if he wasn't careful. This whole burning-eternally-for-one-sin thing was sketchy at best, and hundreds of years downstairs hadn't been enough to learn for what one went to Hell for exactly.

"He helps you?"

"He saved Bobby" he supplied, which led to a longer explanation.

There was a new light in Sam's eyes when he had finished, and he didn't know why.

"You sent him to Bobby?"

"Yes, as I just explained to you".

"And you kept an eye on me".

This wasn't going the way he wanted – he wanted Sam to accept him, but as the demon he was now, not ignore that simple fact and think of the brother he'd always had –

"You're still you" Sam said, astonished. "You're a demon and you're still you".

"That's what I've been trying to tell you – "

Another hug. He certainly wasn't one much for hugging, these days, and even if he were, he didn't think he'd like two hugs in a row, but hugging Sam felt good. Natural. Born out of many bruised knees and tears as kids and even more injuries as adults. He hugged back.

"Sorry – " Sam began, pulling back.

"If you're apologizing to me because you saw a demon and flipped, I'm gonna drag you to Hell myself" Dean warned.

Sam laughed.

"So, Cas – he's good?"

"Better than most hunters we met" Dean replied.

"And he _blackmailed_ you into working with him? The big bad demon?"

It felt better to be teased by his little brother again than he would admit. He simply said, "I decided he might be useful".

Sam knew there was more to it, but thankfully he didn't comment.

"About the ritual..."

And just like that, the brothers were once more discussing a case, even if one of them wasn't human anymore.

* * *

Sarah walked a few blocks, then found a bench and sat down. Dean wouldn't hurt Sam – she was sure of it – and if Sam decided to send Dean away, he would call her.

After half an hour, she decided that it was unlikely to happen, and called Bobby.

When he answered, she said without greeting, "You knew".

If there was someone Sam and his brother would go to, it was Bobby. He was the closest thing they had to a father.

Bobby almost chuckled. Sharp, that girl. He was quite fond of her. She kept Sam on his toes.

"Yes."

"Why – "

"He asked me not to. He came, though, he went to talk to Sam."

"You convinced him".

"I helped". He liked to think that he did. Sam and Dean belonged together. They were family. Nothing should keep those boys apart.

"How – "

"They are talking" Sarah interrupted him, and even though she hadn't known Dean for long, Bobby could hear she was happy.

A relief that was almost overwhelming swept through him. He had known that Dean would react badly if his brother rejected him; but they were talking.

"Any problems?"

"He doused him in holy water, but Dean wasn't angry".

Another good sign. Dean was Dean, but he was also a demon, and that he hadn't got angry proved that he was indeed the same Winchester that had gone to Hell, only of a different species.

Bobby prayed Sam saw it the same way.

"Thanks, Sarah" he said.

"You're welcome. Bye".

She didn't sound in the least angry that he had suddenly cut off their call, finding it hard to talk with all the emotions choking him.

Sam and Dean were talking. He smiled.

The world had righted itself.

* * *

Dean handed Sam a copy of the ritual. The younger Winchester stared.

"Are you sure that's Latin?"

"If you don't know, how in Hell am I supposed to?" he asked.

Sam smiled before focusing on the page again.

"Bobby's working on it, but he could use help."

Dean hadn't talked about them working together again yet. Sam might accept who he was, but working with him...

"And you?"

Sam was looking at him, eager, obviously determined not to leave his side.

His throat shouldn't have constricted, but it did.

He cleared his throat.

"I'm keeping my eyes and ears out. A town has to be thrown into chaos – "

"You think like – "

"Possibly".

To everyone else, their conversation wouldn't have made any sense, but they had always been able to communicate with a few simple words.

"And the agent?"

"He's working the case. And keeping the feds as far away from the truth as he can".

Honestly, Cas was doing more than that – risking his job, hiding evidence, lying to his boss. It came with the territory.

He didn't want to care, but he did. He wondered what Cas was doing, and was angry at himself for doing so.

He realized Sam was still looking at him, and he realized too that there was a familiar gleam in his brother's eyes. While he was happy to see it again, he would have rather it were directed at someone else.

"Sam" he warned. He laughed before he grew serious, and Dean suddenly realized Sam wanted to _talk_ , really talk, and he was wondering whether he should run when –

"Tell me more" his brother said softly, "Tell me everything that happened".

Dean didn't want to. What he had done, what he had seen in Hell – and he'd tortured after he'd got out, too –

Sam grabbed his arm.

"Dean, you are my brother. I want to know."

His eyes told him that nothing he said could send him away.

Dean exhaled.

"You might wanna call Sarah. It's a long story".

Five minutes later, Sarah had agreed to stay at a friend's for the night, and Dean was sitting on the couch, a beer in his hand.

He clinked his bottle against Sam's.

When had they had a beer together the last time? It had been so long ago – several hundred years, from Dean's point of view. He was a demon.

And yet here Sam was, acting like they had never been separated.

He took a deep breath and began to speak.

* * *

"Staring at your phone isn't going to make him call".

Cas frowned and pretended that he hadn't been looking at his phone. They were in another PD, in another room that was as far away from everything as they police could put them, and they had nothing. He had just been checking the time.

He didn't believe his own lie, and he knew Balthazar wouldn't either.

Dean was trying to find information; he was here doing nothing.

He really could use the patience he had always shown while working his cases.

But then, there had always been hope, there was none now. He knew what was going on, but could neither prove nor do anything against it.

"Cheer up, Cassie. I'm sure he'll be in touch soon" Balthazar said.

He chose to ignore the comment. It was implying something that wasn't – it was implying something he wouldn't think about.

"We should come up with a theory" he said instead. "We have to give the team something".

He didn't look forward to lying to his colleagues. But they were not going to react to the news as favourably as Balthazar had. In all likelihood, they would be suspended and subjected to a psychological examination before being allowed back on duty, and the team would run around and stumble over evidence and, in the worst case, run into a demon.

"Cult" Balthazar answered simply. "It's not that far from the truth".

When Cas looked sceptical, he said, "Everyone knows about the Manson family, Cassie. Why not?"

He had to admit he had a point.

They didn't know who would come yet, but it seemed that they still had the lead on the case, for which he was thankful. He suspected that if it had been anything else, Henricksen would have ordered them back.

But he trusted Cas, and that made him feel guilty. He liked Henricksen; he was a capable agent, and for his obsession with paperwork and by-the-book handled cases, he was a good superior.

He and Cas hadn't been that different, in fact, before a black-eyed man entered his life and changed everything.

Not thinking about Dean was more difficult than he had believed. It was the case, he told himself, because the demon was connected with the case.

Only it wasn't the truth, and he had taken out his phone without thinking about it again.

This was dangerous. This was not only potential anymore; it was growing, developing, and Cas couldn't have feelings for a demon.

He didn't mean anything to Dean, he told himself. He was useful, and perhaps the demon felt lonely. Other than that –

Dean had left abruptly during several of their conversations, his face losing all expressions.

Did he know? It was not a pleasant thought.

He put his phone away only for his text alert to rang out.

He ignored Balthazar's knowing glance and read the text.

_At Sam's._

It was ridiculous to be disappointed that it was mere information, nothing personal.

Dean was talking to his little brother. This was good news. Sam had been a great hunter, according to Bobby, and they needed all the help they could get.

Any fear that he might be replaced and that he wouldn't see Dean again when it wasn't absolutely necessary had no place in this moment.

None at all.


	21. Chapter 21

Seeing Dean behind the wheel of his car again was better than Sam had imagined; often when he had driven down a road that led to nowhere, when he had simply needed to get out, he had thought about all the time Dean had pranked him in this car, had told him not to do anything to his precious Baby, had driven through the night while Sam slept next to him.

And now Dean was driving again.

Sam didn’t try to stop the grin that seemed to etched itself permanently on his face the moment Dean demanded the car keys, got in and threw his MP3 player on the backseat. It was most likely broken, but Sam didn’t care.

They had decided to go to Bobby’s. He had called Sarah; she had demanded that he kept her informed but made no objection. She knew they needed time as brothers.

Sam was once again reminded why he loved her.

When he put his phone down, Dean told him that “The girl is way out of your league, so you’re getting away with that sappy look” and Sam slapped him, resulting in the demand for the car keys.

And now they were on the road.

Sam was still staring at Dean.

“See something you like?” his brother asked with a flirty grin, and Sam slapped him again.

“Ouch! Stop that!”

“Because I’m going to hurt the big bad demon?”

Dean didn’t have an answer to that and pretended to ignore him, which was so familiar, so right, that Sam couldn’t help but laugh.

“You keep laughing, Samantha, let’s see how you look when I shave off your hair in the night” Dean grumbled.

Sam continued to look at him.

Then, he slowly began, “Dean – “

“I thought we’d got the chick flick stuff out of our system” his brother interrupted him.

“I am glad you are back” he continued. He wanted Dean to hear it. He needed Dean to hear it. He needed Dean to believe it.

Because he knew his brother would want him to break the tension, he said, “You were obviously too obnoxious to change much”.

Dean stiffened and Sam knew he had said the wrong thing. Dean had told him what he had done in Hell and for Crowley, in fact, the younger Winchester suspected he hadn’t told him everything, but he was still Dean. Did he remind him of Hell? Was that it?

He opened his mouth to apologize when Dean replied, “It’s not – I wasn’t – I changed”.

He was gripping the steering wheel too tight, and Sam wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to talk about it, but he talked on as if he didn’t see him, and that was worrying. He was driving just like always – apparently he could drive without being aware of it, which was no surprise – but he wasn’t there, not really, and Sam was worried.

“You know what I did. And I liked it. And even when I got out – I was a demon. On my way, at least. But then – “ he chuckled humourlessly. “Call it human influence”.

He looked at Sam, and he was seeing him again, and he breathed, relieved.

Then he thought about what Dean had just said.

He couldn’t have meant Bobby, who had only been in the know for a short time.

That left Cas.

Sam doubted Dean realized, but he talked a lot about the man, and not only in connection to the case. He had mentioned things like Cas not getting his references, or that he always wore a trench coat.

Sam had always known his brother was bi. Growing up with him, he had seen the looks Dean gave attractive men. But they had never talked about it. Going after men wouldn’t have fit Dean’s picture of himself, and Sam had thought that this was something he had to deal with. He would wait and, should Dean decide to talk about it, he was more than ready to. It had never happened in his life time.

It was obvious that Dean liked Cas. The question was how much, and whether he would react like Sam would have expected his brother to react before he died when Sam approached the topic.

He chose not to say anything for the moment. He wanted to see Cas before he did.

“How’s Bobby?” he asked conversationally.

“Same old. Although I think he might have a hording problem – should have seen the state of the place when I got there”.

Sam felt guilty. Bobby had taken Dean’s death as badly as he, and it had resulted in him drinking more than ever. He should have been around more, but the house had been a constant reminder of Dean.

“He was attacked because of you” Sam said slowly.

Dean nodded.

Sam was silent, and Dean knew what was going on, just like he had always known. He had practically raised Sam, he could read his every mood.

“They weren’t allowed to try anything on you” he said, “Crowley told me.”

“Why?”

“Don’t know. But Crowley’s sure.”

“And you trust him?”

Sam frowned. Dean couldn’t blame him. Trusting a demon was a pretty big deal for him, and it was a miracle that he had accepted Dean so readily.

“He knows I have the knife. And he knows I would kill him if he lied to me about that” he said matter-of-factly.

Sam looked away, and he wondered if he had made him angry by admitting that he would kill Crowley in a heartbeat; but Sam had killed demons with the knife too, and he had to know that Dean would do everything for him, like he always had.

“Alright” Sam said softly and Dean hoped that they were done with talking about their feelings.

They were. They reached Bobby’s not long after they had fallen silent. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence; it was familiar from many hours on the road, many years spent together growing up.

To be honest, Dean couldn’t believe that it had gone so well, that Sam had hugged him and was sitting next to him. He was driving with his baby brother in his Baby again, and they were going to Bobby’s, as if nothing had changed.

But things had changed. Sam had grown older while Dean watched from afar; in fact, he was as old as Dean now, technically speaking.

The distance between them would grow. And one day –

Dean swallowed. That day was a long time away. He didn’t have to think about it.

They arrived at Bobby’s.

Dean felt the pull of the sigils. Sam grabbed his arm when he saw him sway, but he shook him off.

“Damn protection” he muttered, which earned him a smile from his younger brother, who knew who’d put it up.

Bobby grinned when he opened the door and saw them.

“Told you” he said.

“Yeah, yeah” Dean replied. “Now could you let me in? Still not comfortable with these damn symbols”.

Bobby scratched away a part of the devil’s trap immediately, and Dean entered the house.

The older hunter hugged them both.

“Good to see you”.

It was what he always said, but they understood what he meant. It was good to see them together. They agreed.

Sam immediately grabbed the ritual and several of Bobby’s books and set to work, and he motioned Dean to the kitchen. He looked back to see if Sammy needed anything, but he was already immersed in whatever text he was reading, so he followed and accepted the beer Bobby offered him.

“Looks happy” Bobby observed.

“You know him. Give him books and he’ll never want to move”.

“You know what I mean.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Fine. You were right”.

Bobby smiled. “And how are you doing?”

Dean stared at him, unsure what he meant.

“I mean – “

“Do you mean am I glad that Sam’s here? Of course I am” he said hotly.

Bobby sighed, his smile dropping.

“That’s not what I meant boy. Things are – “

“I know.” Dean could feel what Bobby wanted to talk about, and he wasn’t ready. He might never be ready.

Bobby heard the tone of finality in his voice and said nothing.

They sipped their beer quietly.

“What about Cas?” Bobby asked. “Anything from him?”

“No. Told him I was with Sam”.

He didn’t know why he had sent the text. Sure, he and Cas had a working relationship– as far as he was able to even form one of those. But still – why should Cas care?

He knew that the thought that he didn’t made him angry and that was something he would much rather not know.

He also didn’t wonder what Cas was doing. Nope. Agent stuff. Boring agent stuff. Nothing that should interest Dean, but it did.

Finding a guy hot was one thing, but this? This was – this was something like –

No. He refused. He was a demon. The last thing he needed was another attachment to a human, who would –

He really would have thought that hundreds of years in Hell had made him used to humans dying. Apparently not.

He could go to Hell – without his body, of course – even though he had no intention of returning, but he would never go to Heaven. Demons didn’t go to Heaven. When the knife killed a demon, it was gone. And all those who meant something to him – Sam, Bobby, and, as he grudgingly admitted, if only to himself, Cas – would go to Heaven. He would stay behind.

He figured it was a more than just punishment for everything he had done.

“And of your friends know anything about the text?”

“No. None of them had even heard about it before I called.”

Dean hated not being busy. He had been somewhat lazy when he’d been human, even though he had always hated waiting, but doing nothing forced him to think about things, and that wasn’t a good idea.

On the other hand, he got to hang out with Sam, and he automatically strode into Bobby’s study, not seeing the older hunter’s smile.

“Seriously, Dean, was it that?”

“It’s a piece of human skin” Dean said pleasantly, and even though Sam had known, he let it drop and glared at him.

“Thanks for that reminder”.

But his bitchface didn’t stay on long, despite his attempt to keep it up, and he smiled.

“Just thought you’d want to know what you were dealing with” Dean said, shrugging.

“Whatever. Do I get a beer?”

“It depends. Is it legal yet?”

“Dean – “

A few seconds later, the beer stood in front of him and Dean sprawled out on the couch.

Apparently it was possible for a demon to use his powers inside Bobby’s house once they knew their way around it, but Sam didn’t mind. He was sure Bobby didn’t either.

He looked down at the ritual.

“This is going to take a while”.

“Trust me” Dean sighed, “We know”.

“We?” Sam asked. “You’re not doing anything”.

That earned him a pillow from the couch thrown in his face, but he didn’t care.

He studied the text again.

Dean watched his brother, lost in his thoughts, and pulled out his phone. He wanted to call Cas. There was no reason to. Why should he?

* * *

 

Cas kept wondering how Dean’s encounter with Sam had gone. Had they fought? Had Sam accepted his brother? Cas hadn’t trusted him immediately, but he hadn’t known Dean when he’d been alive. And Bobby had understood. Surely Sam had to?

His conflicting thoughts were interrupted by his friend’s voice.

“Why don’t you call him?”

He looked up. Balthazar was watching him.

“I don’t think he would want me to” he said, and realized he sounded like a teenager. He wouldn’t act like one. Balthazar was right. He couldn’t concentrate, so he would call Dean and get rid of the distraction.

He stood up and left the room. His friend would know where he was going. He went outside, even though no one could read anything from the talk he was about to have.

* * *

 

Dean’s phone rang. He looked at the ID.

“Cas”.

Sam wondered if he knew how happy he sounded.

“Hey, Cas” he answered and left the study.

Bobby walked in.

He raised an eyebrow.

Sam answered his look with one of his own. They understood one another.

“Hello, Dean” he said and then stopped. He didn’t know how to ask. He didn’t know if Dean would feel offended that he thought he had the right to ask.

“I got your text”.

Dean didn’t say anything and he continued, “I wanted to make sure...”

He trailed off because “I wanted to make sure you were alright” sounded too intimate, was too intimate for what they were.

“We’re at Bobby’s. Sam’s studying the ritual”.

“That’s good”.

But still no word about their relationship. Then Dean continued.

“He took it pretty good, all things considered. Threw a bit of a tantrum, doused me with holy water, but it’s okay now”.

Cas thought about Dean’s face burning and swallowed.

“We talked.”

“That’s good”, he repeated. He was normally not lost for words, but he didn’t know what to tell Dean.

He sounded relaxed, happy. He was glad that he had his brother back, and Cas couldn’t help the smile that spread over his face, even if he couldn’t form a sentence.

Bobby must be happy too. He thought of the boys as his sons, and he would want them to talk to each other.

Neither of them said anything for a few moments and Cas wondered if he should hang up.

“How it’s going?” Dean asked suddenly. “Have the other agents arrived yet?”

“They’re still at the different crime scenes” Cas answered. “There seems to be nothing unusual”.

Nothing unusual – if he had still been a normal agent, he would have laughed at his choice of words.

“I think they’re safe” Dean said. “They finished the first part of the ritual. They couldn’t care less about agents”.

At least they wouldn’t stumble upon demons then, like Cas had. More agents would only complicate matters – he had to agree with Dean. They couldn’t do much good, not with the powers the demons had.

“And you’re still leading the case?” Dean inquired.

“Yes” he confirmed.

“Good”.

An unwarranted warmth floated through his veins. Dean didn’t want another agent on the case. It was as simple as that.

“How’s Balthazar doing? Over the shock yet?”

“He’s just the same” Cas replied.

“Good” Dean said again, and Cas realized how futile it had been to read anything in Dean’s wish that he stay on the case. Dean saw him as an ally, nothing more. It was time to accept that.

Dean cleared his throat, and when he spoke again, he sounded embarrassed.

“I’ll let you get back to the agent – stuff you do”. Cas had never heard him so unsure, and he frowned.

Before he could say anything, Dean had hung up.

Cas walked back into the office.

“Everything okay?” Balthazar asked.

Cas nodded and opened the file he had been reading before he had called Dean. Balthazar took the hint and said nothing.

Dean was irritated at his desire to zap over and see how Cas was doing. Guy was fine, so why should he bother?

He didn’t. He was about to see if Sam had made any progress when he got a text.

_We need to talk. Outside of the Yard._

Crowley. It could only be from him.

He sighed and put his phone in his pocket as he walked into the study.

“I gotta step outside for a moment. Crowley wants to talk, and he isn’t eager about the sigils.”

“Crowley?” Sam repeated slowly. Dean had told him all about the demon; his younger brother had been remarkably quiet about their deal.

“Are you sure he is – “

“He’s a demon. But one of the better ones. Well, for a demon. He isn’t as awesome as me – “

“Dean” Sam interrupted him with fond exasperation.

“Don’t worry, Samantha. I just have the knife, and he needs me”.

Sam seemed unconvinced, but nodded.

“Be back in five” he said. “Where’s Bobby?”

“Upstairs” Sam mumbled, “Needed a few more books”.

“Just tell him not to worry” Dean said and left.

Crowley was waiting for him outside of the reach of the sigils; it took Dean a while to get there because he couldn’t teleport and the symbols made him slow.

“What do you want?” he asked harshly.

“Just wanted to make sure you are still working and not, you know, reliving childhood memories”.

“Trust me, I know it’s serious. That’s why I went to Sam’s to begin with”.

Crowley sent him a look that clearly told Dean he knew his answer was bullshit, but he didn’t care.

“Good. As long as he’s working – but what was that little stunt with your friends? Killing the demons?”

“You said Cas was a distraction because he was in danger. Now he’s safe.”

Crowley looked at him, and if he hadn’t known any better, Dean would have thought there was something like pity in his expression.

“Just get me results” he said. Then he vanished.

Dean returned to Sam, who hadn’t moved.

Bobby was sitting next to him.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Everything alright” Dean told them. “Wanted to play boss”.

He expected Bobby to ask about Crowley, but he didn’t. He was glad they were cool with him working with other demons; that was probably where his human self would have drawn the line.

His human self would already have ganked him, though, so he decided it didn’t matter.

“What’s for dinner?” he asked, and Sam and Bobby stared at him.

He huffed. “Fine. But I’m burning your burgers just because you make me make them”.

* * *

 

Cas was frustrated. Henricksen had just called him; four other agents would arrive; and he knew what was going on but he didn’t work the case. Dean worked the case, Bobby worked the case, Sam worked the case. He was stuck here.

“Come on, Cassie, don’t look like that. We have to keep them from finding out the truth.”

“I only did by mistake” he all but shouted. In the next moment, he let his head drop in his hands and muttered, “Sorry”.

“No problem.” Balthazar shrugged. “It’s annoying me too. We know where the action is, and we don’t get to be part of it”.

Cas resigned himself to that. He wasn’t a hunter. And there were going to be no more murders. All he could do was exactly what Balthazar had said.

* * *

 

Dean was making dinner while complaining loudly about it, even though Sam knew he’d always enjoyed cooking, which was why neither Bobby nor he paid his brother any heed.

He took a break from trying to translate the manuscript to call Sarah.

“Hey” she greeted him.

Then there was silence. She was waiting for him to begin the conversation.

“I’m at Bobby’s” he said, “working on the ritual”.

He had explained to her what was going on quickly on the phone before he and Dean took off. She had learned enough about the supernatural to understand it was a serious situation.

“Are you getting anywhere?”

“Slowly” he admitted.

“You’ll find a way. You and Dean always do”.

He felt a thrill at the words _You and Dean_.

For so long, Dean had been gone. And now he was back.

“Take as long as you need. Dad won’t say anything. I’ll make sure of that”.

Sarah was dangerous when she was angry, and Sam didn’t doubt that Mr. Blake would rather ignore his being absent from work than find himself at the other side of her wrath.

He cleared his throat. “I – “

“I know how to protect myself. And I have my anti-possession tattoo” she reminded him.

She had wanted to know what it meant as soon as she saw his, and he had explained it to her, not daring to admit that he wished she had one too. A few days later, she had come home with a tattoo on her shoulder. She had simply told him that it was “safer” to have it.

He had taught her everything about devil’s traps and salt lines. He might have retired, but that didn’t mean nothing would come after him.

“Are you going back to the flat?”

“It’s the best option. With all the protection you set up, and the sigils Dean hid, I’ll be fine”.

He hadn’t yet addressed the fact that Dean had gone to their flat to make it safe. His brother would probably tell him that it was nothing, that he’d had to do it. He would thank him, though. He owed him that, and so much more.

“Take care” she said, “I love you”.

“Right back at you” he replied, and she laughed as she hung up.

He looked into the kitchen to see how Dean was doing. He was just putting the last burger on a plate.

“Sammy, call Bobby, will you? He’s downstairs, going through the books in his panic room”.

Sam listened, but could find no resentment in his brother. It was what he – and secretly Bobby as well, he was sure – had been afraid off; that Dean would be furious that Bobby had built the panic room after he had gone to Hell, not before. But he didn’t even bat an eyelid mentioning it.

Sam walked downstairs and heard Bobby grumble in the panic room.

The older hunter was pulling books from various shelves. Sam had never understood Bobby’s system, but it seemed to work for him.

Sam had entered the panic room briefly after Bobby had told him that he had built it; but it had been too soon after he had lost his brother, and he hadn’t been able to stay for long. He looked at the walls of iron that Bobby had told him he had strengthened with salt.

He admired the devil’s trap in the ceiling when suddenly the thought struck him that Dean could never take sanctuary here. If something happened, he and Bobby would come to the panic room, be safe, and Dean would be stuck fighting whatever came to harm to.

He swallowed.

Bobby put a hand on his shoulder.

“I know” he said softly.

It was so easy to forget that Dean was a demon; so tempting to think that his brother had simply returned without admitting to himself that of course he wasn’t the same Dean that had gone to Hell. He wasn’t that different, but still – it had left marks.

And what Dean had said, about how he had been less human when he’d returned...

He had to concentrate on what he had. He had his brother back, and his brother was making burgers for him.

He helped Bobby to carry the book upstairs. Dean had just finished cooking.

Sam had known demons to eat before, so he wasn’t surprised when Dean dug into his burger; but it made it hard to swallow to see him so happy, just like he had always been with a plate of his favourite food before him.

He managed to eat and laugh with Dean and Bobby like in the old times; but when Bobby brought a pie he had bought because he had known Dean would come for dinner eventually and Dean’s face lit up, he fled to the study because he knew Dean wouldn’t like him becoming emotional over him eating his favourite desert.

It was then that he had a minor breakthrough.

The third part of the manuscript was still incomprehensible, but one word, just one word, he was sure he had seen before.

He took one of Bobby’s more obscure books and looked it up.

“Guys!” he called, the book still in his hands, “I think I know who is behind all this!”

They came in immediately, Dean swallowing the last of his pie.


	22. Chapter 22

 

  


"Here" Sam pointed at a few words.

Bobby read them through carefully once more, his brows furrowing.

"I've searched for the meaning of these words for a while. They look familiar".

"Because they are. They are a changed version of a set usually found in –"

"Okay, Sammy" Dean interrupted him. "You've had your nerd fill for the day. What did you find out?"

Sam glared at Dean without anger and continued, "the evil eye."

"What?"

"I think it is the evil eye" Sam repeated.

"As in – "

"Personification" Sam added. "Have you ever heard about a demon named Aynät?"

"Aynät?" Dean repeated. There were many names of demons known in Hell, some real, some legends; but he couldn't remember that one. He shook his head.

"She has the evil eye?"

"She _is_ the evil eye."

"You mean – like, every time someone is cursed with it – "

"Her doing. Kind of like a crossroads Lilith deal I think".

Sam realized what he had said and shot Dean a panicked look, but the demon simply nodded. Not mentioning Lilith wouldn't return things to the way they were before.

"Never thought the evil eye could be traced back to demons..." Bobby mumbled.

"She's a figure in Christian-Coptic legends as far as I can tell" Sam said, "but who knows how long she's been around. How long did Lilith exist before Christendom? They might simply have told the legends because they were true. Incorporated them into their religion".

Dean rubbed his face with his right hand and poured himself a glass of whiskey.

"Awesome. There might be an old, powerful demon we don't know anything about pulling the strings".

"It's good news, Dean" Sam answered. "We can find her, and – "

"That might be a problem" Bobby interrupted him. He was holding the book with the passage about Aynät in his hands.

"Why?"

"I don't think the element of surprise is gonna work. It says here that she is "all eyes"".

"So she –"

"Knows what we're up to".

Dean let his head fall into his hands and groaned. Crowley was no match for an old demon who knew everything.

"Anything else? Apart from her, did you get anything else out of the text?"

Sam shook his head. Dean realized he had sounded angry. He wasn't. Not at Sam, at least.

He found it even more difficult to apologize since he had got out of Hell, but when he shot Sam a look, he saw that his little brother understood.

Although he didn't understand everything, Dean thought, as a wave of the old, familiar self-hatred washed over him.

Aynät. A powerful demon who was so good at hiding not even Hell knew her name. This was dangerous, even more dangerous than he had realized.

And he had dragged Sammy right back in.

He'd been out. He had a girlfriend, a job. And there was Dean, taking him away from all this.

"Dean".

Sam's expression told him that he had said his name a few times already and that Dean hadn't listened.

"What?"

He didn't fool him, of course. He had never really been able to fool Sam.

"Tell me".

He was only vaguely aware that bobby was still in the room; suddenly it was like the many hours they had spent in the Impala and motel rooms together, talking about everything and nothing.

"You shouldn't be here."

"Of course I should" he replied simply. "It's my fight too."

"It doesn't – "

"If you say "It doesn't have to be", I'm getting the holy water again".

"You wouldn't dare".

"Watch me".

The guilt in his chest lessened. Sam wouldn't be here if he didn't want to.

There was something else, though. Or rather, someone.

Cas.

He was working the case. Of the murders. He was a FBI agent who had no place amongst them. He could fight, but not against a powerful demon who wanted to bring Hell to earth.

Dean had to speak with him, convince him to stay back, much as he hated the thought.

* * *

_Where are you staying?_

Cas got the text shortly before they left for the hotel and texted Dean the address and room number. Dean replied that he would be there in an hour.

"Don't say it" he warned when he looked up to see a familiar sparkle in Balthazar's eyes.

"I am not saying anything".

He wondered if Dean wanted to talk to him or to them both, then was angry at himself; of course wanted to talk to them both. They were working the case.

Balthazar disagreed. When Cas stopped in front of his door, he walked on.

"Balthazar?"

He waved a hand without turning around.

"You've been pining for him all day, Cassie. Call me if you need anything".

Cas rolled his eyes and opened the door.

He cleared away the salt he'd put on the windowsill. Dean appeared a moment later, grinning.

"Hey, Cas".

"Hello, Dean" he answered. The demon looked tired, even though Cas doubted that he was.

He wanted to ask what Dean had to tell him, but he beat him to it.

"Got an idea who's behind all this. Sammy figured it out".

There was pride in his voice, and Cas smiled. Dean was obviously happy that his brother was back in his life. Bobby had been right. These two belonged together.

"Is he still at Bobby's?"

"Working on the text as we speak."

Cas waited, but Dean didn't add anything, so he asked, "What did you want to tell me?"

"Can't I just visit my favourite fed?" Dean asked, and he seemed so serious that for a moment Cas heart started beating wildly. But then he grinned and he knew it had only been a joke, and he was left with a feeling of bitterness that he had let things get so far to begin with.

"We have a name. Aynät".

Cas frowned. "Who?"

"The personification of the evil eye. And she may be her very own security cam for all we know, which means she's aware of us".

Cas swallowed.

"Don't worry, Cas. She'd eliminate the threats first, and with me gone, there'd be no reason to come after you".

Cas really wanted to believe that he felt relieved, but he didn't. The thought of Dean dying alone was not one he chose to follow.

"How do we –"

"Stop her? Gank her" Dean said matter-of-factly. "Of course we'll have to know where she is. And it ain't gonna be easy".

It was more than "not easy", Cas realized, looking at Dean; the demon would hardly meet his eyes and his voice had gone flat.

"Dean..."

"I have the knife. I just have to get close".

"Where?"

He shrugged. "She could be anywhere".

"In Hell?"

"Possibly. Wherever she is, it's going to be difficult to get in".

"And once you have? Once she's dead?"

"The world is safe".

He pronounced the word as if it didn't include him. He didn't say anything about getting out. His plan didn't seem to go beyond killing Aynät.

It was a suicide mission. And Dean was ready to die to save the world.

Cas didn't know what to say.

"Until we know where she is" he added, as if he hadn't just told Cas that he would most likely die soon, "we have to concentrate on the rest of the ritual".

"And?"

He sighed and went to the mini bar. Of course they had had to find a hotel with one in every room again, Balthazar being adamant that they deserved a treat since they were saving the world, Cas uselessly pointing out that he had been choosing expensive hotels far longer than that.

On an impulse, he asked as he saw Dean taking out a beer "Does that even affect you anymore?"

"Alcohol? No. But I like beer".

Dean opened it, then suddenly inquired, "You want one?"

"Sure" he replied, even though he normally didn't care for beer much.

This felt more intimate than when they had drunk together at Bobby's, because they were alone and because it was Cas' room. He grew uncomfortably aware of the bed. He was standing, Dean had taken place on the chair.

"Sit down" Dean gestured with his beer bottle and Cas, knowing that it would seem strange not to, walked over to the bed and let himself fall unto it.

It didn't make things easier that he was now sitting on it, with Dean only a few feet away. And the demon seemed to have no intention of leaving soon, unless the other times when things between them had become too – close.

"And, how's Balthazar doing?"

"He is handling the situation well".

"Good you have that in common, at least". Dean took another swig, Cas did the same trying to hide his blush.

It hadn't been a compliment. They were simply coming to terms with the fact that there world was not what they had believed it was, and Dean was happy that they were not panicking.

No reason to blush, although sadly, he did it anyway.

Dean's expression changed, and he said coldly, "Now, of course, there's no reason for you to stay on the case".

"What?" he exclaimed.

"You wanted to know who was behind this. You know. You can do nothing. You should go. Try to find an explanation for the killings".

"And leave you – "

"You're not a hunter" Dean said. "These are demons we're fighting against, and you wouldn't survive".

He was stating a fact. He wasn't being cruel, or relieved that he no longer had to work with the FBI.

Cas thought that he would have born it better if he had been.

Instead, he was being logical; he was telling him exactly what Cas meant to him. Nothing. He had known that his crush, as much as he detested using the word, was hopeless, but to have it thrown into his face like this was different from being aware of it.

"And what if I want to see this through?" he asked, just as coldly.

"Which part of "you wouldn't survive" didn't you get?"

"I understood everything. But I still want to see this through" he insisted.

Dean stood up and put his beer on the table. Gone was the human Cas knew; this was the demon he had first met. Even though he hadn't changed his eyes, it was obvious. He was standing up straight, and the agent could almost feel his power in the air around them.

"You will not do such a thing" Dean growled. "You will not work on the case. You'll go back to your job and forget about all of this".

"And if I don't?"

Cas shouldn't challenge him, but he couldn't stop himself. He had gone too far. He couldn't leave now, the world in danger –

He knew that Dean was another reason he didn't want to go. In order to deal with it, he had to be honest with himself. He found that it might not be difficult to forget about the demon if he remembered him like he was at this moment, not like he had been when he had saved him.

But it didn't change his resolution. He knew the truth. He wanted to fight. He had to fight. He would fight.

Dean's face darkened.

"I have my methods" he replied.

"You're going to kill me?" Cas forced out.

"Are you really surprised? You know what I am".

And the threat should have been effective, should have been enough to make Cas run, but it wasn't. Because he knew what Dean was. A good brother; a loving son; a trustworthy friend. He had saved him again and again, even though he didn't have to.

He took a step forward.

"I know" he said softly, "and that's why I'm not scared".

Dean's eyes flashed to black, anger marring his features.

"Why can't you just leave? Why can't you just leave, you idiot?"

"Because I don't want to" Cas shot back, growing angry himself.

"You – You" Dean was struggling to find words, but couldn't, and Cas registered it with satisfaction.

Then the demon was backing him up against a wall again; he had moved impossibly fast. Cas could feel the heat of his body against his.

Once more, the atmosphere changed.

Dean's eyes changed back to green.

They locked on Cas' lips.

His eyes was beating fast, they were moving towards one another, he wasn't sure if he could have stopped even if he had wanted to –

A knock on the door.

They broke away from one another, Dean vanishing instantly.

Cas almost stumbled as he moved to the door automatically, regained his footing and took a deep breath before opening.

Balthazar raised an eyebrow.

"Looking a little flushed there, Cassie. You and your demon have a good time?"

"He knows who's trying to create Hell on earth" Cas replied flatly and motioned for him to come in.

He explained what Dean had told him. Balthazar looked sceptical.

"The evil eye. The one so many people are scared of".

"Yes."

"It's a demon".

"Yes" he confirmed again, growing impatient despite himself. He was still reeling from what had happened – or, rather, from what had not happened. He refused to think about it. Even if they hadn't been interrupted, they couldn't have – they wouldn't have –

But Cas would have, and that made him angry.

"What now?"

Balthazar's voice brought him out of his thoughts, and he shrugged. He went to the beer that Dean had left on the table and downed it in one gulp.

"Cas?"

He put the bottle back, his hand clenching around it.

"What's going on?" Balthazar asked carefully.

"Nothing you have to worry about" he replied.

It was Cas' problem, not Balthazar's. If Cas was – attracted to a demon, he was the one who had to deal with it.

"Of course I have to worry about it. It's clearly affecting you".

They had rarely voiced what their friendship meant to one another, and it was enough to make Cas talk.

"Dean doesn't want us to help anymore. He thinks it's dangerous."

"It is".

"Can you really sit there?" Cas demanded, preferring not to reply to his comment, "When you know the world is about to end?"

Balthazar looked at him.

"You know I'm in whenever you mention dangerous missions, Cassie".

Silence settled between them for a few moments. Eventually, his friend asked, "If we don't desist, will he do anything?"

"No". He was absolutely sure. Even though Dean had threatened him, he was absolutely sure.

"Then we don't" Balthazar said firmly, standing up. "I need my beauty sleep. Let's get some rest and make a plan tomorrow?"

Cas nodded.

Balthazar touched his shoulder on his way out, and Cas had seldom felt more thankful for his friend.

* * *

Dean appeared in the Salvage Yard, having teleported there without thinking about the sigils. The effect hit him without warning, and he staggered against a car.

He was tempted to trash it, but refrained. Bobby would never let him hear the end of it.

He made his way to the front door. The sigils made him slow, gave him time to think, and that wasn't a good thing.

He'd almost kissed Cas. And he was sure that Cas would have kissed back.

If there hadn't been a knock –

He didn't want to think about what would have happened. It never should have gone that far in the first place. Making out after a fight was never a good idea. Dean had learned that the hard way. And making out with Cas was a pretty bad one too.

Because Cas was – Cas. Dean had been pretty far gone when they had met, torturing for Crowley, not caring about the victims, determined not to see Sam or Bobby. And then he had rescued him.

He was starting to think it would have been better for all concerned if he had left him to the demon, but he didn't want to contemplate Cas in Billy's hands.

Or, maybe, if he had slept with him in the beginning because Cas was hot. Before feelings could be developed.

Yes, he begrudgingly accepted that he had feelings for the agent, as far as it was possible for him to still have feelings.

Didn't mean he should indulge them. And it didn't mean he had to drag Cas down with him. Guy really should find someone else. And stay away from the supernatural.

Only he wouldn't. He had made that clear. Dean could only hope that he'd be able to steer him away from too much trouble.

He knocked.

Sam opened and Dean saw his eyes widening, a sign that his brother was worried but knew he didn't want him to show it.

"Sigils" he mumbled and entered the house, glad to be free from their influence.

Sam left it at that.

Bobby looked up when they entered the study.

"What did Cas say?"

"He wants to keep doing this".

Bobby looked smug, as if he had expected nothing less, and Dean supposed he would have as well, if he hadn't been too distraction by his self-hate and his wish to keep Cas from danger.

"Did you fight?"

He should have known that Sam's silence wouldn't last long.

"I got angry, but not really." He wasn't going to tell them more, because nothing more had happened.

"Better call him" Bobby said, "before he does something stupid. He shouldn't try and find Aynät on his own".

He was right. But Dean preferred to avoid people he had just had a fight with.

There was no help for it, though. He had to.

He left the room, unable to call Cas while Sam wore that smug expression on his face.

He looked down at his phone. It was stupid to be nervous about a call. When one was human, and especially when one happened to be a demon.

And yet –

But Cas could do something stupid any minute. He had always acted quickly. Must be why he was considered one of the best FBI agents to date.

He called.

Cas picked up immediately. If his alert tone was something to go by, he hadn't slept yet. Then again, their encounter had taken place barely half an hour ago. He still found it surprising how quickly he could move from one place to the other.

"Hello, Dean."

"Cas – " He didn't know how to go on. What did one tell the person one had almost –

"I am sorry. I do understand why you don't want me to continue this investigation". Cas interrupted his thoughts and said exactly what Dean had wanted to hear, only it sounded wrong. Distant. Not like the Cas he knew.

"However, I have decided to continue with or without your permission – "

"You don't need my permission".

If Cas could say such things drily, so could he.

"I don't think you're a bad agent. You're a really good one. But this is dangerous. You have to know that".

"I do know that". Cas sounded softer now.

"Good" Dean breathed before he could think about it. He cleared his throat.

"All I'm saying is, don't do anything without telling me. And I'll keep you informed, okay?"

"That sounds acceptable" Cas said, and relief flooded through him. He didn't show it.

"Good, then. Call you". He hung up. That hadn't gone too bad, all things considered.

* * *

Cas gently put the phone down. He had expected Dean to be angry, but the demon seemed more than happy to accept his terms.

He didn't know how to feel about that.

Neither of them had mentioned the kiss that had almost happened. Either Dean was avoiding the topic, just like Cas, or –

Or he had read too much into it and Dean hadn't wanted to kiss him.

It was possible. Cas' infatuation with the demon made him see things that weren't really there; made him believe there was a chance even though there was none and had never been. Dean was working with him because he had to, because Cas had summoned him. He had no other choice. He had seen his offer as a welcome opportunity to rid himself of the agent.

Cas couldn't believe anything else. He wouldn't allow himself to believe anything else.

But they were working together. He wouldn't be left behind to watch the world fall apart.

* * *

Dean informed Sam and Bobby curtly that he had talked to Cas. Neither of them asked questions. Dean decided that it was high time that he tried to follow Aynät's trail, and he sent Crowley and Bela a text. The hopefully future King of Hell would be too busy to call him, and Bela knew that if he wanted to talk, he told her.

Then he proceeded to grab some books and attempted to find a trace of this demon.

Hell was full of rumours. Hell was always full of rumours. And yet he had never heard of this Aynät. Of course, if she had come to be known as the evil eye, her name had been forgotten.

But still – to erase oneself completely from all legends was no small feat. She was powerful.

In fact, if she was the evil eye, every culture knew about her existence. He had simply seen it as a collection of curses; something those who were befallen by them called their misfortune because they didn't know any better. But if it was truly the evil eye... There was no way to fight it that he'd ever heard of, if one didn't count talismans. But he couldn't very well make everyone wear amulets.

Lilith had been killed by the knife. Lilith had been the first demon. Aynät must be vulnerable to the knife too. But he would have to get close. And if she had her eyes everywhere...

He groaned as he read that the evil eye had been associated with chaos in several legends. Perfect.

So they could expect a curse on a whole town. Delightful.

There was a knock on the door, and for a moment, he thought he was Cas. Stupid, of course; he couldn't come that quickly even if he wanted to, and there was no reason for it.

He found Crowley leaning against the doorpost, seemingly unaffected by the sigils. At least he thought so until he saw a bead of sweat slowly make his way down his chin.

"Would you kindly step aside?"

In his surprise, he did just that and Crowley strode in, brushing of his suit.

"What are you doing here?" he hissed, glad that Sam and Bobby were once more in the basement.

"I thought I would meet the rest of the family".

"Get out".

"I thought we were besties" Crowley commented as he walked into the study, carefully avoiding the traps Bobby had set up. Dean was a little disappointed. He would have loved to see the bastard stuck.

He had no idea why Crowley was here. He had been adamant that he didn't want to go within reach of the sigils only a short time before. And Dean had been more than fine with it.

He didn't want Sam and Bobby to see Crowley. To know that he was working with a demon was one thing; to see it another.

"So" Crowley said, picking up a book and leaving through it. "How does it feel to be back with the family again?"

"Why are you here?" he asked impatiently.

Crowley let the book fall on the table.

"Come on, what is wrong with a friendly chat?"

Dean knew he wouldn't leave. He wanted to see Sam and Bobby, whether to make certain they would be a good asset to the team or to make them leave altogether he couldn't say; but it was likely that either option was fine by Crowley. As long as Dean kept working.

He felt a rage burn through him, a rage he hadn't felt in a long time. Not since he had got out of Hell.

The knife was in his hand before he knew it; he had Crowley pressed against the wall, the blade at his throat.

"If you think..." he growled.

"Dean?"

It wasn't Sam was speaking his name that stopped him. It was the fear in his voice.

He realized that his eyes were black, and that he was holding someone against a wall, threatening their life.

He let his hand drop and backed away, changing his eyes to green. He looked at Bobby and Sam and tried to say as calmly as possible, "This is Crowley. He plans to be the new King of Hell".

**Author's note: I said it was coming... Eventually. Bear with me.**

**Please review.**


	23. Chapter 23

"Pleasure". Crowley smiled, and Dean considered raising the knife again, but he didn't want to freak Sam and Bobby out any more than he already had.

Neither of them had said anything, and it made him nervous.

He had expected them to attack, or at least to scream. But his little brother surprised him once again.

Because for him Crowley was not simply the demon Dean was working with.

"You got him out of Hell?"

"Yes. I do like to – "

He interrupted Crowley's undoubtedly sarcastic answer with a sincere "Thank you".

He sounded so earnest that Dean, for the first time, saw the other demon speechless. It would have been amusing if Bobby hadn't been so silent. He had no idea how the older hunter would react.

"Not that I'm not thankful" he said gruffly, "but I would like to know why the future King of Hell is in my house".

Dean forced himself not to sigh with relief.

"We are all working together, so I thought I'd drop by. Love the decor. Very redneck style".

Bobby raised an eyebrow, and Dean hoped that Crowley didn't push him too far. He loved the old guy like a father, he really did, but he could be –

This halted his thoughts.

At this moment, he felt like the man he had been. Even with Crowley next to him. In fact, he had to fight the impulse to step between Crowley and his family.

Things had definitely been easier when he had still been torturing the other demon's informants.

"So" he broke the silence, "Aynät. Any info?"

"You really don't know how to hold a polite conversation, do you" Crowley said, "but as a matter of fact, I have".

He took a flask and a glass out of his coat pockets; Dean was relieved to see that he kept a reserve of his beloved Craig and didn't touch Bobby's bottles. He might tolerate him in his house, but his drinks were another matter.

Bobby handed him a glass of whiskey and poured one for himself. Sam was satisfied with a beer.

"She is a rumour" Crowley began, settling himself on Bobby's desk, and Dean was impressed with the man's self-command. Most of the time, he had a difficult time bearing Crowley.

Bobby seemed to sense his discomfort and shot him a look that plainly stated he would have nothing against Dean using the knife on the demon but understood that they needed him. Dean suppressed a smile.

Crowley had yet to continue, but Dean knew that asking would lead to nothing.

"As a matter of fact, even the rumour is all but forgotten. I recall hearing about her a few hundred years ago, but even then it was only a legend about the evil eye."

"Aren't their older demons who could know?" Dean asked.

"Most of them are gone or not interested" Crowley replied. "That's the problem with demons: All about rage and destruction. Not ready to see the bigger picture".

Dean sniggered when he saw Sam's expression. His brother threw him a bitchface, as expected.

"If she's very old, it would explain why she understood the ritual" Sam said, and Crowley nodded, "But why didn't Lilith do something similar? She was the first demon, wasn't she?"

"Lilith was all about freeing Lucifer. She wouldn't have been interested in anything like this. Good question though, Moose".

Sam was obviously taken aback by the nickname, but Dean was too used to Crowley's ways to be surprised.

"Bela?" he inquired.

He had told Sam that Bela was working for them; and while the younger Winchester was not sure she could be trusted, not having seen Hell or how Dean had cut her down, he agreed that she would be a good spy.

"Has finally gained the trust of a few of the lower ranks" Crowley replied. "Alastair, though, is currently on a mission, whatever that means".

Whatever it meant, it couldn't be good. Most likely it had something to do with the second part of the ritual.

"I am certain you will keep me informed of all developments" Crowley said, emptying his glass and carefully pocketing it again.

"Of course" Dean said with as much sarcasm as he could muster. Crowley ignored it.

"As nice as it was meeting you, gentlemen, I have to keep Hell from rising".

Much to Dean's satisfaction, the sigils in the Yard prevented him from teleporting outside of the house so that he had to stroll out of the room rather than vanish; he didn't think it necessary to see him off.

"So..." Sam began. "That's Crowley".

Dean shrugged. "He's better than most demons."

Bobby was silent, but didn't seem too angry.

"I suppose he isn't the worst devil we could have..." Sam replied.

Dean tried not to show how relieved he was. He had feared that seeing Crowley, Sam and Bobby would understand what they were doing; that they were working with the very things they had fought against all their lives; but they were remarkably cool about it.

"It's enough that he got you out".

And it was getting a little too chick-flicky for Dean.

"I tried so hard, Dean, I tried so hard – " Were those tears in Sam's eyes? Of course. The big softy.

"It's okay, Sammy. I know you did".

His brother smiled, and Bobby cleared his throats. "All right, you idjits, how about we get back to work?"

He didn't think he'd ever felt more thankful towards Bobby than in this moment.

If Crowley thought Aynät was real, it was more than probable that she was.

Without meaning to, he thought of Cas. He was safe for the moment. He had to tell himself that and be content with it. He could keep other agents from stumbling into trouble; but other than that, he wouldn't be useful.

Their almost kiss meant nothing. If it had even been that. Cas might not have the least idea of what he was about to do. And maybe it wouldn't have been welcome.

It would be better for Cas if that were true.

And yet he couldn't convince himself of it. Therefore, he began to work on the translation in earnest, resolved not to think about it again.

* * *

Having decided that there was little they could do on the spot, Cas and Balthazar were ready to return to Lawrence. They would collect the whole team there and discuss their further course of action.

They only knew that they had to keep everyone from guessing the truth. Which, however, wouldn't be too difficult. A short time ago, Cas would have believed anyone crazy who ventured to tell him that demons existed.

He found that he had another problem that he had never known before – he would have to fake interest where he had none.

He had always been a diligent agent, had followed every clue, had never given up, but he had never before been aware of the truth and forced to keep it secret. Even when cases had touched powerful or rich people, he had always been able to bring them to a satisfying conclusion.

He found that he was not as good a liar as he had supposed; the police men at their last crime scene had been rather surprised at his lack of interest, and Balthazar had asked him to at least act like he was looking for evidence.

Henricksen called and made his impatience clear as they left the PD.

Cas kept his information short and to the point. There was no use arguing with his superior.

Henricksen told him which agents he had sent and Cas was relieved to hear the names of colleagues he got well along with – apart from Uriel Traitson, who he suspected had too often taken the praise for cases he had barely worked on. But they all trusted him and Balthazar and would therefore be easy to lie to.

Cas was aware that he was ready to manipulate them, but he couldn't afford to care about that.

They arrived in Lawrence rather earlier than they had expected and went back to the hotel that had been recommended to Cas on his first day; they might as well try to get some rest.

Cas forced himself not to send Dean a text. If there were news, Dean was sure to tell him.

* * *

They had a great big ball of nothing, and Dean could feel frustration building in him. He had been slightly on edge ever since Crowley had visited, and this wasn't making things any easier. He was far from getting angry, or becoming dangerous; but still, he would much rather have had more control over himself.

Sam suggested they grab a beer, and Dean happily acquiesced.

Instead of returning to the study, Sam took place on a chair in the kitchen, and since Bobby didn't comment on their not coming in again, Dean was certain that some sign must have passed between them.

They had often sat in this kitchen, having a beer after a long day. With Sam, he felt like he had never left; that the hundreds of years in Hell meant nothing; but of course they did. Things could never go back to how they had been. As Bobby had pointed out, he and Sam would –

But Dean didn't think that he'd survive. If Aynät was hiding in Hell, it would be him who sought her out; if she was as powerful as they thought she was, her defeat might only be ensured by his destruction.

He cared little for his life. Bobby and Sam were doing well, and Cas could be glad not to be followed around by a demon anymore.

"How are you doing?"

Dean snorted. It was just the question he had assumed his brother would ask. He shrugged.

"Okay".

Sam looked sceptical.

"You're here, I've got a beer, I'm fine. Seriously".

"It's just... you seem to be – "

"Being pissed off is part of what I am. Don't think about it".

"You're my brother, of course I have to think about it".

"Sammy..." he groaned, looking down at the table.

"Is this about Cas?"

He looked up.

"We have the damn Apocalypse hanging over our heads, and you think this is about Cas?" he asked incredulously.

"You seem to like him".

He wished his brother wasn't so observant. He certainly had never told him he was interested in men.

"He's safe" he said, "And that's enough. He's keeping the feds off".

"You stay in contact?"

There was a glint in Sam's eyes that told him the Sasquatch found it amusing that Cas had trapped him and forced him to work with the agent.

"If I didn't, he'd come here. Guy's got a job. He can't just drive here whenever he pleases".

He took a sip of his beer and tried to think of another topic. But other than Cas, the threatening Non-Apocalypse or Hell, he could think of nothing.

Wait – there was something else. He'd have to go through more than Hell before he stopped teasing his baby brother.

"What about the wedding?"he asked. "You bought a ring yet?"

It had been one of the times he'd checked up on Sam; staying out of sight, but still near enough to see what he was up to. He'd left work and gone straight to a jeweller's. Dean had known what was up.

"Not yet. I want to find the right one".

Of course he would, the girl. Dean was about to answer, but Sam had to make this about feelings. Again.

"How often?"

More often than he should have, less often than he had wished. When he had come back from Hell, he had known that he could never see his brother again – or at least, at the time, he had believed it – and at first, he had been determined not to give in, not to check up on him. Aside from the first time, of course, right after he had got his body back. But everyone would have done it then.

He didn't have any justification for the other visits.

Whenever he had had enough, when Crowley's comments had got under his skin, when he had finished a torture session and got no information, when he had had time free and hadn't felt like picking someone up, he had gone to Sam's. Just for a glimpse. He had seen him smile and work and it had been enough, or so he had thought. Because it had never been enough, not really.

He had glossed over his visits when he had told Sam how he'd spent the time since he'd got out. It had been hoping too much that his brother wouldn't want to know every last detail.

After Dean had told him, about the countless times he had hidden behind a corner or vanished when Sam unexpectedly turned around, his brother shook his head.

"I thought I saw you" he said. "Now and then, I thought I saw you in the corner of my eye. But you were always gone when I turned around, so I thought – regular people, they see ones they lost everywhere too. I thought I was being normal for once."

"Us? Not a chance" he replied. Sam laughed.

Bobby heard Sam laugh and smiled. He hadn't heard that in a long time. He had forced himself to concentrate on the text, so that he wouldn't overhear what they were talking about; but he was not sorry that he had waved his hand at Sam when Dean had shown signs of frustration.

They hadn't yet had much time together, and Bobby was ready to give them more, even if it meant he had to do the work.

This time, it was Dean who laughed, and Bobby glanced at the closed kitchen door. It had definitely been a good idea to convince Dean to go see Sam; he hadn't been this relaxed since he had shown up on Bobby's doorstep. Although he had kept his rage well in check before, for a demon.

He still thought that had something to do with Cas, and he was sure that Dean had more than once thought of him; he had caught the demon's eyes turning away from a page too often to believe it could be a coincidence.

But if anyone could get him to admit that, it would be Sam, so Bobby had to sit and wait.

* * *

The other agents could be expected to arrive in the course of the night. The PD had had no problems with their increasing number – Cas decided that they had had luck in that respect, to meet acquiescence rather than resentment – and their meeting was to take place early the next morning. He and Balthazar prepared everything; it gave them the air of having something to do; and at nine pm, they decided that they could return to the hotel.

Cas would have gone up to his room immediately, but Balthazar dragged him into the restaurant, declaring that he wouldn't let him go until he'd seen him eat something. Cas complied. He would have preferred to be alone, but Balthazar was right; he had eaten too little in the last few days. Of course he had to break the silence.

"We're still going with the cult thing?"

Cas swallowed and nodded.

"It should be enough. There'll be no other murders..."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yes. Dean says so".

"If Dean says so..." Balthazar mumbled. He loked up and saw Cas' face.

"I'm sorry, Cassie, it's still difficult to get the whole nice demon thing".

He seemed sincere, and Cas shook his head.

"It's alright". He knew Balthazar was just looking out for him. Better, in fact, than he did for himself; he was thinking of Dean much oftener than he should.

He cleaned his plate to satisfy his friend, then he was allowed to go up to his room.

He checked the protections. Nothing had been disturbed.

The pendant that Dean had given him was still hanging around his neck.

He pulled his tie off – it was tied the wrong way, like always – and was determined not to regret that no one had been there to set it straight.

* * *

Dean had convinced Sam to let work be work for the night; he was talking to Sarah on the phone and Dean, being the good brother he was, only needed one look from Bobby to move away from the door so he couldn't eavesdrop.

Sadly, he took one step too many and got stuck.

His eyes flashed black reflexively, but when he remembered, turned them back and looked at Bobby, the old hunter didn't appear concerned in the least. He was getting a chair to scratch a bit of paint from the ceiling, and soon he was free again.

He didn't get angry, but it certainly wasn't a good feeling to have been stuck because he hadn't paid attention. He knew this house as well as his car; he should know better.

Bobby patted his shoulder and poured him a glass of whiskey. Dean had no idea why he was so accepting, why Sam was so accepting, why Cas thought he was one of the good guys, but he wouldn't point out what he was and what he had done. He felt much better, much more in control now that he was back with his family.

Sam came in, looking happy if a little concerned.

"She's back in the flat. She says it's safe, and that she knows how to protect herself".

"I don't doubt it" Bobby answered. "She's clever".

Sam nodded, but Dean could see he was unconvinced.

"Give her some credit" he said, "She got an anti possession tattoo".

"You're right". Sam sighed. "It's just – I don't want anything to happen to her".

It was no wonder that he was worried; losing Jess had taken its toll on him.

Dean said nothing, but squeezed his shoulder. He might not be good at the whole talking thing, but he could still support his brother.

Sam smiled at him, one of those smiles that had only ever passed between the two of them, and Dean understood that he'd done the right thing.

He let his hand drop and, without wanting to, thought of Cas.

It was rather late; surely he was back at his hotel by now?

No. He wouldn't think like that. He should keep his distance.

But he had to check that Cas was safe –

Cas could protect himself. He had shown that. No reason to freak out.

He could feel Sam's eyes on him, but he didn't look at his brother. He would either try to be understanding or showing off that smug expression he knew so well, and Dean didn't have the patience for either.

"Anything from Cas?"

The question came from an unexpected quarter. Bobby was sitting in his chair, looking at him. He forced himself to answer calmly.

"No".

"You should go check up on him. He's not a hunter" Bobby suggested and Dean didn't know if that was really his only reason. But the older hunter's expression was so open that he doubted Bobby suspected what was going on.

He nodded and left the room with a "be back in a few".

Bobby looked at Sam.

"To Hell and back, and he still ain't subtle".

Sam agreed laughing.

* * *

Cas was almost asleep when his phone rang.

It was a text.

It simply said, _Are you at the hotel? Which room?_

He answered before he could think about it. Then he broke the devil's traps and salt lines.

Dean was in his room a few moments later.

"Hello, Dean".

"Hey. Just checking in".

Cas didn't point out that he could have done that by calling him.

"Keeping protected, I see. Good".

Dean sounded cold, like he wasn't interested. But Cas knew he was. He hadn't imagined the almost kiss.

"About Aynät..."

"Yes?"

"We're pretty sure she's real. Demon I know confirmed it".

Cas nodded.

"But if she is the personification of the evil eye..."

Dean sighed and let his shoulders drop. When he spoke next, he didn't sound distant anymore.

"She might know what we are up to. She might not. We have no idea what she can do".

Cas nodded.

"How are Sam and Bobby?"

Dean blinked, as if he didn't understand why Cas would ask.

"They're fine".

After a pause, he asked, "Balthazar?"

"He's doing well".

Dean realized that they were politely conversing and laughed. Cas joined him.

"Not exactly the kind of talk you expect to have with a demon, is it" he said.

Cas smiled. "I find it easier to talk to you than to most people".

He didn't know what to do with this compliment, so he didn't answer.

"What's the plan?"

He huffed, annoyed.

"We don't have one except waiting. And we have no idea how they plan to throw a town into chaos. Or what the third part is".

Cas moved closer. Dean realized that he hadn't been as good at telling him that he wasn't interested by acting like a demon as he had hoped. He had started out okay, he supposed; but one word from Cas and his walls came down.

"I should be going" he mumbled, and the disappointment he saw in Cas' eyes didn't help in the least.

He could have teleported, but he stayed glued to the spot.

"We'll find something" Cas said confidently.

Again with the "we". Why couldn't he have been like others? Seen him as a suspect, put a BOLO on him? No, he had to go to the crime scene.

"Are there any books on Aynät? That I can get in a legal way?" Cas joked, and Dean thought that Sam would love him; they were both annoying nerds.

And he shouldn't think about introducing Cas to Sam. Definitely not.

"That there's no information is the whole point" he snapped. Cas didn't react to his outbursts. Maybe it had something to do with him already having witnessed worse.

Another point against the idea. Cas deserved better. A human, for starters.

"But we have a name".

"And?"

"In my business, that's better than nothing".

Dean tried not to laugh at Cas' description of his job as "business" and failed miserably.

Cas frowned, which didn't help the situation.

"I've chased my fair share of suspects" he said indignantly and Dean somehow managed to stop laughing.

"I know. You're a badass agent. But they don't exactly teach finding demons that are probably millennia old at the Academy".

"No" Cas replied.

"Don't worry. You've got me".

He wished he hadn't said it in the next moment. Cas was doing his head tilt thing again, and Dean couldn't look away. When Cas did that, he looked so young.

Dean realized once more how much older he was. He had spent hundreds of years in Hell; he was not the twenty-nine-year old who had gone there, even though he still looked like it and would so until he died.

He wondered if Cas ever thought about how old he theoretically was, then told himself it didn't matter.

"And so we wait?"

"We wait" Dean confirmed. Bela was in deep; she would find a way to Aynät. He wished he could contact her, but he couldn't risk her being suspected. His name was well-known in Hell, word had got around that he was working with Crowley; She would be dead before she could warn him. And that was the best-case scenario.

Cas squeezed his forearm, and he should have paid better attention; he had not see the agent walk towards him, nor reach out. And now they were close. And they weren't fighting this time, but Cas was still looking at his lips.

"I am sure something will come up" he said earnestly.

Dean nodded and moved back.

That wasn't disappointment in Cas' eyes. It wasn't.

He decided it would be better to take his leave and did so. Cas was left angry at himself.


	24. Chapter 24

He should know better than to send Dean signs that he was interested. Not only would it be highly unprofessional to engage in intercourse with someone he was working with, but he was a demon and most likely didn't find Cas attractive – at least not attractive enough for what Cas finally admitted to himself he wanted.

Once again, he had chosen someone he could never have. He wondered if it was a subconscious attempt to make any real relationship impossible, but it was idle guessing.

He would have to keep his distance.

* * *

Dean reappeared at the edge of Bobby's property. There hadn't been any reason to go to Cas before, and now he regretted that he had done it. He had told himself that Cas hadn't wanted to kiss him, despite his attraction being obvious; but he had seen the proof that he had, that things could have gone further. They hadn't been fighting, they had simply been talking, and he had moved closer –

It was good that the sigils slowed him down. He needed the time to calm himself; Bobby and Sam would immediately ask what was wrong and not take no for an answer until he told them.

He knocked on the door and heard Sam's quick steps. He knew it had to do with his brother's wanting to spare him the effect of the sigils, and he smiled.

Sam looked at him expectantly as he walked past him, and he said, "Cas is fine". Against his hopes, Sam left it at that, and Dean grabbed a beer from the fridge.

He took a large gulp and tried his best not to think about what had almost happened. Again.

Sam didn't attempt to make conversation. His brother had always known when to keep silent, and Dean found himself very grateful for that.

They decided it was time to turn in shortly afterwards and he tried to sleep again, but his mind was buzzing.

Eventually he gave up and walked back to the study. Maybe he could get somewhere with the text.

He couldn't. But maybe he could make something out of what they had? Throwing a town into chaos... what was the easiest way to achieve that?

He and Sam had seen a town more or less controlled by demons through the simple fact that men liked alcohol and hookers. But that would take time, and he didn't think they were very patient.

The phone rang, and he automatically answered it. He had done it so often in the course of the years that he didn't realized until he'd said "Yeah?" what he'd done. Many hunters out there knew his voice, having worked with him. And hunters weren't people who forgot easily.

Whoever had called was silent, then asked, "Dean?"

He needed a moment to identify the voice, but then he remembered Missouri Moseley.

"Missouri" he said calmly.

"I am glad you got out of Hell".

It wasn't what he had expected, but he wasn't going to complain.

"Me too". Another pause. She had always been confident; he didn't think she had paused so much during a conversation in the last twenty years.

"Do you want to talk to Bobby?"

"Might as well tell you. I have some news from the other side".

"What news?"

"Just a few words. It was all too jumbled to really make out, but the words "demons" "Bridgewater" and "big" were clear".

Could it be – could it be the town they were seeking?

"Anything else?"

"What do you think I am, boy, your radio to the other side?"

"Isn't that kind of the point?"

She laughed. The tension disappeared.

"I can't make the ghosts communicate better. I can only listen".

"Alright, then listen on. Thanks" he added.

"No problem. And Dean – " another pause, and he wondered what she had to tell him.

"Agent Novak is a very good man".

She hung up and he stared at the phone. He knew she had spoken to Cas, but why –

Bridgewater. He had to see what that was all about. He could worry about the other stuff later.

He took one look at it and jumped out of his chair, raising towards the stairs before he remembered he had a quicker form of transportation.

Sadly, his brain didn't at the same time inform him that the man whose bedroom he was about to appear in was a hunter with over thirty years worth of experience, and he had a knife at his throat before he could react.

"Damn it, boy" Bobby growled. "Don't do that".

He stepped away.

"Sorry" Dean said, "But I think I know which town they are targeting. We have to get Sam".

Two minutes later, they were in the study. Dean showed them what he had found. As expected, they weren't thrilled.

"State Hospital?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. They keep the criminally insane ones there" Dean explained. "And – if you wanna throw a town into chaos, freeing them is one idea, I guess".

Bobby sighed. "Missouri's never been wrong before. Of course, it could be another big demon thing. Anyway – "

"We have to check it out" Dean finished. "You two get another few hours, we're going first thing in the morning".

They didn't argue. Dean didn't need sleep and they did, so it was up to Dean to dig out any information he could find. They would go at daylight.

He wondered if he should send Cas a text, but it was in the middle of the night, and the agent couldn't do anything anyway. He'd probably show up and risk his job when there was no reason to.

He would probably call him tomorrow, but not now. Guy had enough to do as it was.

Dean put his phone away and pulled a book towards him and decided not to think about it.

The hours dragged by as he collected every information they could possibly need. Aside from the hospital, it was a normal town like any other; but he guessed a bunch of psychokillers was as good a reason as any.

He called Crowley. He was pleased that they were making progress and wasn't as obnoxious as usual.

"Can you beam us there after sunrise?" Dean asked. He wasn't able to teleport more than one person plus himself. And even that was exhausting – when he'd placed Cas on his bed in the motel, he'd almost passed out.

"Of course. See you then".

Crowley was definitely in a good mood. Dean didn't share it, not really – demons letting killers lose was not something that made him feel cheerful – but he had not been subjected to one sarcastic reply and if that wasn't a reason to be thankful, he didn't know what was.

Sam and Bobby, when they stood up a few hours later, naturally were not really into the idea of being transported by a demon.

"We need to get there quick" Dean said. "They could already have started – "

"I know" Sam replied. "I'll do it".

Bobby shrugged. "It's not like I've never done something dumb or crazy before".

Dean breathed a sigh of relief. He would have preferred to drive his car there too; but this was quicker and they would probably have some time to prepare before an attempt was made to breach the hospital.

Crowley arrived exactly at sunrise, not even annoyed that he had to pass the sigils again.

One minute later, they were in Bridgewater. All looked quiet, so at least nothing had happened until now.

"Let me know how it goes. Or if you need a ride home. Later" Crowley said before disappearing again. He was probably going to look for Aynät again. Not that Dean was complaining. Crowley was a good manager, but he didn't need him in his team.

"Motel?" Sam asked, hoisting his bag.

Dean nodded. "Then we check out the hospital".

They went with the FBI; the hospital workers had to be used to agents coming and going at all times.

Dean had barely set foot on the premise before he stiffened.

"Dean?"

"Demons" he said slowly. "I don't know how many".

He could feel it. Demons where he; but who they were possessing was another question. The killers? The doctors? He would know as soon as he saw them; their demon souls would give them away; but so they would know him.

No one was attacking him yet, so they probably thought he was one of them. That was good news, at least.

He put his hand in his pocket and made sure the knife was still there. Using it would be risky – there were so many people about that they'd have to leave immediately – but it was the weapon that worked against them.

The receptionist wasn't possessed. They showed their badges and she let them in without questions; when they told her they wanted to talk to the director, she wasn't surprised.

Dean didn't see a demon on the way to the office, but he could feel their presence. He would have drawn the knife, but the secretary was accompanying them.

He wished he could know where the demons where.

As it turned out, he didn't have to look long for one of them.

The secretary led them down the corridor that led to the office and Dean felt it. One demon was near. Closer than the others.

It could only be...

He turned around and shot Sam and Bobby a look.

They understood immediately.

He put his hand in his pocket. He would have to draw the knife immediately.

The secretary left them alone after knocking, and he was glad for it. Behind this door was a demon, and he would attack as soon as they were in the room.

He went in first.

The demon stood up, and as he had predicted, his eyes turned black and he attacked.

Dean managed to evade him as he jumped towards him; he slammed into Sam. Thankfully Bobby immediately threw holy water on him, and the demon screamed as Dean held the knife against his throat and ordered him to stop.

The demon calmed itself. Dean could still feel demons in the vicinity, but none of them seemed to be approaching, so they hadn't heard him.

"Dean Winchester" he said quietly, "this is exciting".

"Yeah, now how about you tell the others there isn't going to be any escape today?"

The demon actually chuckled.

"You don't think we foresaw that something might happen? Anyone of us might throw open the cells".

He had heard enough and slit the demon's throat. He couldn't spare a thought for the poor guy it had possessed; he was better off. God knew what the demon could have done to him while he had been inside him.

"We have to find the other ones" he said, and off they were.

They had stopped the director, but if demons were possessing other members of the staff, they could let out the inmates without him.

Dean cursed his abilities. He was too young to pinpoint exactly where they were; and he had to stop trying to figure out how many they were because it made him dizzy. They were moving. They must know something had gone wrong.

It was no surprise therefore that a demon ran through a door without Dean being aware that he was behind it. It was possessing a male nurse and threw himself at Sam, who managed to douse him with holy water. In the next moment, Dean teleported, appearing behind him and stabbing him through the throat.

"Any idea?" Bobby asked.

Dean shook his head. "They're moving, and – "

"It's okay. Not like we've never done this before".

They smiled briefly at one another and moved forward.

There was no noise. If someone had let inmates loose, there would have been one, so Dean took comfort in that.

Bridgewater was still safe.

They moved noiselessly. The hospital had several floors and too many rooms to count. They had to do this systematically.

After a quick glance at his companions, Dean moved up the stairs. They would clear the building from the top floor down. It was better to move towards the exit.

The feeling of demons near neither grew stronger nor fainter, and he wondered if they had done something to mess with his perception. There was bound to be a ritual that could do that.

There was no demon on the top floor, only a lot of cells with inmates. Dean checked every cell through the little window in the doors, and more than once found himself looking at a drooling guy who didn't even notice. At other times, they launched at the door, and Dean instinctively flashed his black eyes to intimidate them. It didn't always work.

These guys were screwed to Hell. Literally. Dean knew what one had to do to get here. No way they would be spared the trip.

Another floor. He was always the first, never allowing Sam or Bobby to take the lead.

Which of course led to a demon tackling Bobby from behind.

Before they could reach them, the old hunter had already thrown so much salt and holy water at him that his face was a blistering mess.

Dean finished him off quickly and they moved on, somewhat closer than before.

He had the impression now that fewer demons were in the building, as it should be. Still, there was something that made him uneasy –

Of course. Where were the employees? Not everyone in this building was possessed, they had already seen that. One of them should be on his rounds or doing something else, and at least one body should already have been discovered.

They didn't have to think about it long.

In the next corridor, they found the mangled remains of the receptionist.

"Son of a bitch" Dean cursed, guilt shooting through him. If he hadn't allowed her to walk off...

"Dean" Sam said, "it wasn't your fault".

He looked at his little brother. That was why he needed him. Sam had always been able to call him down with a word, a look.

"Do you think the other employees are dead too?" Bobby asked in a tone that showed he already knew the answer.

"Yes" Dean replied. "Probably part of the plan. If they were to raise alarm, the killers would just be locked up again, and that doesn't exactly scream chaos".

At least he was reasonably sure they wouldn't have to worry about the cameras. He'd wondered whether they would have to destroy any security equipment the hospital had when they were done, but he didn't think so now. To have an employee on camera who pressed a button was one thing, but them slaughtering each other would attract too much attention. The place would be crawling with hunters in no time, plus police and feds, and they had always been discreet. Aynät hadn't hidden herself for God knew how long for nothing.

They found a few more bodies, but no demons, even though Dean could still feel the demonic presence.

They were down on the third floor when a woman stood in front of him.

"Dean Winchester".

He didn't recognize the demonic soul. He was certain he had never tortured her, and felt strangely relieved.

He waited for her to continue.

"You never can stay out of trouble, can you?"

"Afraid not".

"And you hang out with this vermon?" she asked indignantly.

He was angry but managed to stay calm.

"What is it to you?"

"You should help us" she continued in the same tone, "to bring about greatness. This planet has almost been torn to shreds. We have to take over what is ours".

A noise came from the direction of the stairs and she flinched, even though there was no one else it could be but the demons she was working with.

And only then did Dean understand.

She wasn't attacking him. She wasn't following orders. She was disobeying them, in fact.

He knew because he had heard this tone many times before.

When someone had been trying to convince him that he was wrong, that there was another way to go. Usually it had been authority figures of some kind.

She was trying to convert him.

He would have laughed if he hadn't been certain that she could put up a fight. She wouldn't let anyone stop her from doing what she considered the right thing.

He was sure that they had been told to kill him on sight. His reputation was enough to make obvious that he wouldn't help them, and they knew he was working with Crowley.

And still she was trying to make him see the light.

He almost pitied her. Almost.

"Look, lady, you're not going to convince me".

She looked disappointed.

"Then you are a traitor".

She raised her hand, and Dean understood too late what she was doing. Pain shot through him and he let the knife drop.

He hadn't felt anything like this since Hell, like every single one of his nerves was burning, all that was left pain, and he didn't think, didn't scream because he couldn't, because the pain was everything –

It stopped and there was a hand on his shoulder.

"Dean?" Sam asked frantically, Bobby at his other side.

"I'm fine" he croaked. "What about – "

"Took the knife" his brother said. "She didn't think "vermin" could turn against her".

He smiled proudly at him.

"So you're a badass after all. Who would have guessed".

"Yeah, yeah" Sam grumbled as he helped him up.

Dean could feel that the demon presence had swindled dramatically. And it was growing fainter by the second.

"They are leaving" he said.

"What?" Bobby asked.

"Maybe they're running from us" Sam suggested. "Would be nice".

"Yeah" Dean replied, but he was sceptical. Why should they leave? They still outnumbered them.

He could worry about that later.

"Let's get this place secure".

Even though there were three of them, they still needed some time. Dean moved slower and slower, the sigils draining him, pulling at him, but he wouldn't leave until the last one was in place. He stepped out of the front door before Sam finished the devil's trap on the floor and they left.

"Won't people clean it up?" Sam asked.

"The hospital is gonna be locked up for days" Dean replied. "Bodies will be discovered soon, Patients will be transferred, police will be alerted, the whole stuff. They won't compromise the crime scene, so no cleaning".

"We're sure about the cameras?" Bobby asked.

"I'm sure".

While Sam and Bobby had been working on an upper floor, Dean had gone to the basement to check on the surveillance system. As expected, it had been dissembled. Some demons would have let the blame fall on the people whose bodies they were possessing, but they were too clever for that. It was almost impossible that hunters wouldn't be interested in that case; and without cameras, there was no possibility of black eyes flashing.

"Alright, so I hate to break our bubble, but why did they leave?"

Dean looked down the street.

"I wish I knew".

* * *

Cas had been waiting for a text the whole day. He wouldn't admit it to anyone but himself – yet it was the truth. And Balthazar knew. Thankfully his friend refrained from commenting on it.

Dean was out there searching for a town and Cas was stuck here leading a hopeless investigation.

In the morning, they had held the meeting. The room had just been big enough for them.

Cas had never felt comfortable as the leader of a task force. It involved too many things – taking care of press releases, comparing strategies with the police, keep informed where everyone of the team was and what they were doing at every moment – that too little time was left to do his job. The work he was good at and felt comfortable with. He had often enough been put in this position now though, based on the belief that a good agent had to make a good leader – a step of logic Cas was unable to follow – that he was used to it and could deliver the opening speech without problems. He summarized what had taken place, listed the victims and their life circumstances, and ended with the theory of a killer cult.

It was Uriel who raised the first objection, just like he had thought.

"Is there any evidence for a cult?"

Cas explained the markings on the crime scene and that more than one killer had to be involved.

Uriel nodded. "And what have you done to find them?"

It was calmly said, although the derogatory meaning of the question was clear. Uriel would have liked the lead, no doubt.

Silence settled over the room.

"It's not easy to find traces of a cult that has probably been in hiding for years" Cas said finally. "I am confident that together, we will provide results".

He had often found that his calm and somewhat cold demeanour could diffuse certain situations, and it held trued once more. Uriel gave him a look that might or might not be hostile, but he didn't say anything, and the discussion began.

Each agent had their own view how the investigation should go, some more, some less aggressive about voicing their opinions. All in all, they were lucky. He had known his colleagues for years, they had worked together before on various cases, and all of them were level-headed and didn't believe in the supernatural. Keeping them from guessing the truth would be easy.

"That went well" Balthazar commented as soon as the others had left, each with a special task to fulfil.

Cas nodded absentmindedly, taking out his phone. He had put it on muter during the meeting.

He noticed something and frowned.

"Balthazar, do you have reception?"

It was strange. He hadn't had any problems with getting a reception since he had come here, had even sat on the exact same chair while he had used his phone. It might have seemed strange to be disconcerted, but his instinct told Cas that something wasn't right.

His friend knew him well enough to answer his question immediately without teasing him.

"No" he said, surprised. "I could have sworn there was one before the meeting – "

"There was" Cas replied simply.

"Weird" Balthazar answered. "Sure it's going to come back soon".

"Yes" Cas said, nodding, even though he still felt unsure.

Maybe it was this case. It had certainly changed his world view – of course he was nervous.

He thought so until they heard screams.

They rushed to the door, drawing their weapons.

They put them away when they realized the screaming consisted of officers barking orders and others running around informing their colleagues about developments.

They quickly went to the squad room. Uriel was the first to notice them and went to meet them.

"A riot has started in the centre of town" he said. "No one knows how or why, but it sounds serious".

Cas bit his lip. Riots were rare in a town like this, especially when there had been nothing to set them off.

His gaze fell on the window and he stared. When they had left their room, it had been a sunny day.

Uriel followed his eyes.

"A minute ago, it wasn't like this".

He said it matter-of-factly, and there was nothing of the derision he had shown during the meeting. He might be angry that Cas was the lead on this case, but he knew when to show it and when to do his job. It was one of the reasons Cas thought him a good agent.

Cas saw Thompson and offered him assistance. The officer was grateful, since he couldn't call anyone – all communication was impossible. He believed it had something to do with the brewing storm – the clouds were getting darker every second – but Cas knew better.

Lawrence was the town that was about to be thrown into chaos.

And he couldn't warn Dean.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have an announcement to make. Not only do I know now how many chapters this story is going to have – 33 – but from this day on, you can expect updates on Fridays and Mondays as well as on Wednesday.

It soon became clear that not only the phones weren't working. The internet connection had broken down as well; walkie-talkies didn't work; nothing worked.

They had to go out there and stop the riot, and they had no possibility of coordinating their movements with those of other officers.

And the moment the stepped out of the building, the storm broke loose.

The clouds had turned day into night; it was impossible to see more than a few metres ahead. It would have been bad enough without the rain and the lightning, but suddenly water was pounding down on them and thunder growled.

When they reached the cars, they were already soaked, the helmets and bullet-proof vests they had put on slowing them down. Cas wished he could have kept his trench coat. At least it was somewhat water proof.

He and Balthazar had taken a car together with Uriel. They didn't talk much. It would be useless to try to assess the situation when they had no information. According to Thompson, the phone network had broken down after he had heard the words "Riot in town centre".

He had had too run into situations unprepared too often, and sometimes it had been simple luck that everyone had made it out alive.

Riots were unpredictable. A mass always was. Cas speciality was to find a single criminal; to think how he thought, to catch him before he could harm others. A mob didn't think. A mob acted. He was not a bad fighter by any means, but he could do little.

They all could. Depending on the size of the mob, an unorganized police force wouldn't be enough to stop it.

They had to drive slowly. There was no sign that the rain would stop, but maybe the storm had dispersed the riot.

Although Cas had his reasons for doubting it.

If this was throwing the town into chaos – and a storm and a riot certainly did enough for that – then the second part of the ritual was complete. Or was it? Maybe the chaos had to be bigger, maybe –

There were too many maybes. And he couldn't call Dean. He wasn't able to contact anyone. Of course, help would soon be on the way; someone had to notice that Lawrence had been cut off from all communication.

But how soon would Dean come? How soon would he notice?

He would check it out, Cas was sure; even in the unlikely case that this had nothing to do with Aynät, it was too much of a coincidence.

He found himself hoping that he would come soon; that he would be –

He had no right to, of course. He had no right to think that Dean would be worried about him. They had almost kissed. Twice. But feeling attracted to someone and feeling something more – like Cas did – were two different things.

It would be better if Dean didn't worry. If his feelings were one-sided, Cas could cope. He was a good, professional agent and this was a case.

He shoved all thoughts of Dean out of his mind and concentrated on the car in front of him, whose backlights he could just make out through the rain.

It was good that he did, because he suddenly realized that it had stopped and barely got the car to stop in time.

"What's going on?"

"I'll find out".

He got out of the car and made his way to the first, with a few other officers who had been sent out to investigate why they had stopped.

Thompson was looking for him, an umbrella in his hand. Cas was glad for the shelter.

"Just ran into a swat team – they were making an arrest when the news came over the radio before it went dead. Apparently it's still going on. There have even been some robberies".

"How far?"

"About a mile from here. We'll put up the barricades".

Cas nodded and hastened back through the rain.

"We have a swat team" Balthazar said, "That's good".

"But we still don't know how many people are involved" Uriel replied.

"A rather large number, I gather" Cas replied. "Otherwise they rain would have dispersed them".

It was more than likely that some had left when the storm started. Therefore, if the riot was still ongoing, it must have been big. The question was if it still was – if it was bigger than they could handle.

"What do we have?" Uriel asked.

"Apart from the swat team, there are several other officers we came across; the fire department has offered help; and they are setting lights up on high buildings as we speak."

At least they wouldn't walk in blind, Thompson had explained, and Cas shared his relief. They had to try and stop the mob, but at least they would see where they were going. If the lights were strong enough.

The rain was till pouring down, and the lightning and thunder were strong enough to disorient them for a few seconds. This would happen to the rioters as well, of course; but a few seconds could decide everything.

He wished they could organize, could plan their movements, but it was impossible. They had to act now, or the riot might grow. For now, only the centre of town was closed off; but if they allowed it to spread...

With a feeling of dread did he allow himself to be assigned to one of the small groups Thompson put them in, containing two or three officers and agents and a swat man. Balthazar came to stand beside him as a matter of course. He looked pale in the dim light.

"Do you think..." he asked quietly as they were getting ready, Uriel's presence having prevented them until now from speaking freely.

"It's possible" Cas replied simply.

Then they were moving.

The light beams were strong and illuminated the place with the most rioters somewhat; but it was still difficult to tell who was an officer and who wasn't, who had just been caught in the middle and who was a participant, and whether people were attacking or just running towards them.

They managed to get out of most fights relatively fine; they had arrested three men so far when Balthazar punched his arm and pointed towards a group of four who were dragging a fifth into a side street.

The swat man was busy dealing with one of the arrests; Cas glanced at Balthazar, who was gasping for air.

"Are you alright?"

"Let's get them" his friend said determinedly, and they were off.

He only realized it was a trap when all five men attacked them. They tried to put up a fight, but it was hopeless. After about a minute, he felt a sharp pain at the back of his head and everything went dark.

His last thought was _Dean_.

Dean would come.

Dean would help him.

* * *

Dean, Sam and Bobby were sitting in a motel room and listening to the police radio. Half an hour after they had arrived, a call came through about what had happened at the hospital. They continued to listen until it was clear the police were absolutely clueless, then Dean turned it off.

"I'm calling Crowley".

The King of Hell to be was satisfied, but cautious, and Dean agreed with him. Something about the whole thing... It felt off, like the fight he and Cas and Balthazar had had with the demons at the crime scene. Why had they left? They had taken out a few of them, but why hadn't they attacked all at once?

They discussed it, but none came up with a satisfying explanation.

Dean was nervous; he had the strange feeling that something was about to happen and that they had done nothing to prevent it.

He automatically took his phone out and had almost pressed call when he looked up and saw Bobby's and Sam's smug faces. He could have put it away again, but he wanted to talk to Cas, so he stood up without a word and left the room.

He waited for the phone to ring, but it didn't. The call simply didn't go through. There was no voice to tell him that the number he had dialled was not available, no noise to indicate Cas was talking to someone else; there was only silence.

He told himself it meant nothing and tried again.

The same result.

Now it definitely was something.

He walked back into the room. Sam immediately asked what was going on.

"I can't reach Cas".

"I'm sure he's just –"

"It's not that – it's not usual I-can't reach-someone-stuff. Something's not right. I'll check up on him. Be back in a few".

He zapped away without waiting for an answer.

Or, rather, he tried to zap away.

Because in the next moment, he was doubling over in pain; his legs gave way beneath him; and he was writhing on the floor. He heard something that might have been screams and a strangely detached part of his brain wondered if he was having a seizure.

He woke up a few minutes later, Sam and Bobby kneeling by his side.

"Dean?"

Sam's voice was trembling.

"I'm fine" he mumbled.

"Yeah, right" Bobby replied sarcastically. "That's why you're lying on the floor. What happened?"

Dean tried to go through it. Before he had fallen down, there had been – something like a barrier between him and the place he had tried to go.

"I couldn't get there" he said slowly. "It was... like it was locked up".

"Has this ever happened before?"

Dean sat up and shook his head.

"So what, you can't reach Cas and you can't go to him?" Sam looked at Bobby. "Sounds strange".

"That's one way of putting it. I'm gonna call a few hunters I know thereabouts". Bobby took out his phone. "Maybe they heard something".

Dean tried to convey that he was thankful through a look as Sam helped him on his bed. He was still pretty shaky. Whatever had stopped him from getting to Cas was powerful.

He knew of course who was the most likely candidate, and it made his worry increase. What if Aynät had...

"Dean" Sam said, "We don't know what's going on".

That was true, and he forced himself to relax. Bobby had left the room, probably because he didn't want Dean freaking out even more than he already did.

After a few minutes, Dean felt like himself again and stood up, despite Sam's protests. He knew Bobby wouldn't want him to stand behind him while he was talking on the phone, so he paced up and down the room.

Sam didn't try to calm him down, as he more or less expected, with the argument that it could be nothing. Preventing a demon from teleporting was powerful magic if no devil's trap was involved; this was serious.

Sam turned on the television and they learned that a riot had started in Lawrence and that all communication had broken down; the state police had drawn a neutral zone around the centre, where the riot had started; residents were asked to stay in their houses; no one, not even reporters, were let in.

And then there was the storm, a lightning storm, that had started shortly after the riot and only above the town. Nobody could explain it.

Dean's hands clenched into fists.

Bobby returned.

"Most of them are working jobs someplace else, and I can't reach the two who live close by. I also tried calling Missouri Moseley. Nothing".

They quickly told him what they had learned.

"We have to get there" Dean said immediately, and they made no objections.

He called Crowley, and before the demon could say anything, he told him, "We need to get as close to Lawrence as possible. And it could have something to do with Aynät".

"Hello, boys".

Crowley stood behind him and hung up.

"Why don't you explain to me this sudden need to go see your friend?"

Dean managed to hold his temper and Crowley raised an eyebrow.

"So a town isn't reachable by phone or teleportation?"

He nodded.

"Sounds like our kind of thing. Gentlemen, pack your bags".

They were ready within minutes; Crowley stood in the middle of the room.

"I will have to see how far the barrier goes" he explained. "This could take a while".

He closed his eyes and made a gesture with his hand that Dean associated with him lighting or extinguishing fires.

It took almost five minutes and only his determination not to disturb him kept Dean from pacing. Sam and Bobby waited patiently, the first glancing between Crowley and his brother, the later frowning at the demon waving his hands in the air.

When he opened his eyes again, Dean was surprised to see him more shaken than he had been at the Salvage Yard.

"There's a line drawn around the town's borders" he said, "that prevents any use of powers, demonic or otherwise".

"A line? Like a barrier?" Sam asked.

"Yes".

"So we can't get in?"

Crowley shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine".

"Fine. Can you get us as close as possible?" Dean inquired.

"I can."

"Then do it. We'll see from there".

Crowley looked like he wanted to argue, but took one look at Dean's face and sighed.

"We are talking a demon barrier here. If you go into this town, you won't be able to use your powers. You'll barely be stronger than a human. Maybe even weaker. And it'll get worse the longer you are there".

"I understand" Dean said. He might not be able to teleport or move objects, but he still had the knife.

"I assume we have no way of knowing if we can still save the second part of the ritual from being completed?" Bobby asked.

"Afraid not" Crowley said. He clapped his hands.

"Well then, time to go. I'd say call me if you need anything, but – you know".

Before they could say another word, they were standing in the middle of nowhere. At least it seemed so until they saw –

The skyline of a town about a mile away, with a dark cloud hanging over it. It looked surreal; the rain fell down, but only above the town, giving it the appearance that a wet curtain had been placed at the city border.

"Just when you think you've seen everything" Bobby commented.

"Let's go" Dean said determined. Sam grabbed his arm.

"You heard what Crowley said."

"I killed monsters before I went to Hell. I'll manage".

"Dean. I know. I simply – tell me, alright? When you feel too weak".

Dean nodded. He didn't think it would be a problem; other than most demons, he still remembered that he had been human, so not having his powers shouldn't prevent him from doing anything.

"Should we go fed?"

"I doubt the police would understand why three feds in plain clothes should walk into this" Bobby replied. "Let's see if we can find a hole in the barricade".

They moved near enough that they could see the guards posted at regular intervals and walked sideways. It didn't take them long to find a place the guard had either abandoned or not been protected at all, and Dean shook his head.

"You'd think they would be more careful with the whole Hell storm going on".

"Makes it easier for us" Bobby said.

Dean had underestimated the effect of whatever it was the demons used to cut off his power.

The moment he stepped over the town border, he felt fainter than he did in Bobby's yard.

He took a few deep breaths to adjust. He could do this.

"Dean?"

"I'm fine" he said. Sam's look told him that he was unconvinced, but he didn't push, and they started moving.

Dean felt like everything had slowed down. He remembered what it was like being human; but he hadn't thought about how much stronger a demon truly was. Demons didn't tire; a demon's perception was quicker than a human's.

It almost felt like he'd been drugged.

He managed, even though his thoughts were a little sluggish too. He focused on the reason why they were here.

They had to find Cas.

They were still in the outer districts of Lawrence, and all was silent. Apparently the residents did what the police had asked and stayed home. That was good – less people on the street meant less chaos.

"We're near Missouri Moseley's place" Bobby said and Dean needed a moment to remember who Missouri Moseley was.

But he was still moving, and he was still thinking somewhat clearly, so he figured he was okay.

They found her house immediately and knocked. Unsurprisingly, she opened it with a gun in her hand.

"Hello, Missouri" Sam said. She stared at them.

"Would you let us in? We're getting soaked here" Bobby said, and she took out a flask and doused them in holy water. She tried only to hit Sam and Bobby, but a few drops got on Dean as well. He ignored the sting.

"The whole storm and chaos thing" he explained. "We need a place to get somewhat dry. You're gonna let us in?"

She stepped aside.

"So I think it's safe to say that Bridgewater wasn't the target" Dean commented, letting himself fall on the sofa. He was thankful for a dry spot.

She raised an eyebrow.

"Don't go all smartass on me, boy. I can't control what I hear. And don't you even think about putting your feet on my coffee table".

Dean had contemplated it, but decided it was too much off an effort only to make her angry.

"Do you have any idea what's going on?" Bobby asked. Missouri shook her head.

"Television worked longer than the phone or the internet, but only long enough to tell people to stay at home" she explained.

"And my contacts won't answer".

"Probably blocks all powers, whatever the hell has me going all human" Dean said.

He was silent for a moment before asking, "Did you hear anything from Cas?"

She shook her head and looked at him with an expression that was far too understanding for his liking.

"So I guess we'll have to walk into this one blind" Dean said. "Awesome".

He stood up.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Missouri demanded.

"I'm fine" he said, annoyed, stalking to the door.

Sam tried to apologize, but she waved him off.

"Just be careful. And look after him".

Sam nodded and left; Bobby stayed long enough to promise her he'd be in touch and they were in the rain again.

Sam wondered if they should have brought umbrellas, but it would have been of no use anyway. The rain fell continuously, beat them down, and the lightning and thunder every few seconds made it difficult to see and hear.

He was worried about Dean. He insisted he was fine, but Sam could see he was going slower every minute, and it had nothing to do with the rain. He was speaking slower too, occasionally stopping in the middle of the sentence before continuing, although Sam doubted he knew. His powers were draining fast, and not just the ones he had because he was a demon. He wasn't simply turning human temporarily; he was deteriorating. They had to act fast.

Bobby noticed too. Every few minutes, he shot Sam concerned glances.

Eventually they reached the centre of the town; since several agents had arrived in the last few days, they decided it was safe to pass themselves off as feds to the police officers around. A man named Thompson introduced himself and began, "The centre is not yet under control, but there have been several arrests, and the rioters seem to get tired. Sadly, a few persons, including two officers, were injured, and the property damage is great – there have been a few robberies as well. And..." he trailed off.

"And?" Sam prompted.

"I'm sure it's nothing. But because of the rain and the confusion, we haven't been able to locate two of your colleagues".

Lightning illuminated the room they were in – the police had taken over a small grocery store right at the barricade.

"Which two?" Dean asked, even though he already knew.

"Agents Novak and Roché".

* * *

Cas groaned as he regained consciousness and became aware of the dull pain at the back of his skull.

He managed to open his eyes and registered that the room he was held in had no furniture and that he was lying on a cold and damp floor. The protective gear he'd been wearing had vanished.

He tried to sit up and failed.

"Cas?"

"Balthazar?"

Relief that they were not dead overcame him.

"Do you know where we are?"

"Still in town, I believe" he answered, and the thunder they could hear was proof enough.

"Are they demons?" Cas asked, even though he was sure they had to be. It was too much to believe that after everything that had happened they would get kidnapped by humans.

"I'm not sure".

"Why?" Cas was surprised. Balthazar had fought against a demon too – he would recognize one at first sight.

"They haven't said anything, and they didn't flash their eyes".

That was indeed strange. Demons liked to show their black eyes to intimidate their adversaries, in Cas experience.

"If they are not demons – what do they want?"

"I told you, they haven't said anything".

Balthazar sounded tense. Cas wondered if someone had noticed they had gone missing, but with the chaos and the storm, it wasn't likely.

This time, he managed to sit up.

His hands were tied behind his back; after a few tries, he realized he wouldn't be able to slip the cuffs unless he dislocated his thumbs, and then his hands would be useless when they tried to get out.

"Are you alright?"

"Got knocked out, but otherwise I'm fine. You?"

"I'm okay". He could still feel where he had been hit, but he didn't think he had a concussion.

"I guess we'll have to wait" Balthazar said.

"Yes" Cas replied. The room had no windows. The dim light came from the door.

The door that was opening.

"I see you are awake" the woman who strolled in told Cas.

He didn't answer.

"What's going on, cat got your tongue?" she smiled.

"I would appreciate if you could tell me why we are being held against our will".

He wouldn't play her game. Even if the police hadn't noticed they were missing, there was someone who would. Suddenly, he felt certain of that.

Dean would find out, and Dean would come. He just had to wait.

Balthazar didn't say anything. Cas glanced at him and didn't like what he saw. He looked unnaturally pale. Maybe he hadn't told him the truth when he'd said he was feeling alright.

"Let's just say, you have caught our attention".

"How?"

"You have been a nuisance".

"You are demons" Cas stated.

"Clever" she replied sarcastically, moving closer. He could see there was a knife in her hand.

Something wasn't right. He could see why Balthazar had been unsure they were demons. She hadn't used any power on him. She hadn't shown him her black eyes.

And yet, why would she lie? It was far more probable that they were demons.

But then – why weren't they dead already? Or being tortured? Why were their hands tied, instead of simply making them unable to move, like Billy had, like the other demons had at the murder scenes?

She advanced towards him with the knife, but she didn't move with the fluid motions he was used to from other demons, Dean especially. He should probably have been worried, but he was too confused about the strange behaviour of the demons.

A door was broken down. Shouts could be heard from downstairs.

And he knew that he had been right.

She turned around.

"What – "

"I think" Cas informed her, "you are in trouble".


	26. Chapter 26

_Agents Novak and Roché_.

The words kept repeating themselves in Dean's mind over and over, taunting him. It had to be demons. There was no other reason why Cas should go missing at a time like this.

And it was Dean's fault. If he had refused to work with the agent, this would never have happened.

It occurred to him that this might not have happened simply because Cas knew him, but because Aynät, who saw everything, was aware that –

He couldn't speculate now. He couldn't afford to speculate. He had to get Cas back.

He was sweating despite the rain, his limbs feeling heavy. He shook his head to clear it.

Sam and Bobby were next to him. He could feel their worry.

He shook his head again and said, "We have to find them".

"Thompson said they disappeared from this square" Sam began, "I don't think they took them very far. They can't teleport them, and the spell must be draining their powers, just like it does yours".

"According to a local Sergeant, there are some abandoned houses not far from here" Bobby explained, lifting his cap and shaking it to clear it from water; it didn't make much difference.

It was as good a guess as any. They moved in the direction Bobby indicated, but Dean soon found that he was even slower than he'd been before. He dragged his feet in front of him.

He wouldn't be of much use to Cas like this. The thought made him angry, and for once the anger helped him. He felt some energy return to him, although he was far from strong.

Sam was at his side, ready to help him. Dean didn't comment on it. He didn't know whether he might need it or not, and until he did, he wouldn't complain.

They soon found the warehouses, and tried to see through the rain if there were any guards posted on the windows, but it was impossible.

Dean looked over the houses and pointed to one at the end of the street.

"That one" he said. "It's the best to defend".

Before he could say anything else, Sam had started to move towards it, careful not to be seen, and he leaned against the wall of the house next to him while he waited for him to come back.

Bobby looked at him.

He sighed.

"Look, I'm fine". The old hunter raised an eyebrow. "Alright, so I'm not on the top of my game. Doesn't matter".

Bobby wisely chose to say nothing. Sam returned.

"You were right. There are demons in there".

Dean pushed himself off the wall, the adrenaline helping him. He'd be able to fight, and he had Sam and Bobby. If the other demons were affected too, they should be able to beat them. Most demons relied on their powers in a battle; but they were hunters, had been fighting all their lives.

They decided to go in through the front door. No point in trying to be subtle, especially since they were probably expected.

Dean took out the knife. He might feel a bit shaky, but he was still going to use it. Sam and Bobby had their sawed off shotguns loaded with rock salt.

"We don't know how many there are" Sam said.

"No we don't" Dean replied and went to stand in front of the door.

"Dean – "

"Look, it's my fault that Cas is in this mess, and I'm gonna get him out of there".

They didn't have time to argue, which was a good thing because Sam undoubtedly would have; they simply stood next to each other and kicked the door in, Bobby right behind them.

There were three demons in the hallway. At least Dean was sure it was demons, because what else could they be? But it was strange not to see their souls.

Sam fired and hit one of them in the chest. He howled and moved back. A woman tried to attack Sam, but she had the knife in her throat before coming close.

There was movement upstairs. Of course the shots and the screams had alerted the other demons in the building.

Dean pushed past the body and finished off the man Sam had shot. The last demon in the hallway chose to run but didn't get far. Dean had been right; his movements were far more sluggish than those of the other Winchester.

Aynät hadn't taken into account how much the demons would be affected. Maybe she hadn't known. The spell had probably never been used before.

Dean stabbed him in the back before he could get far. He looked at the stairs, then at Sam and Bobby. They understood.

They ran up the stairs. After the screams of the demons when they had broken down the door, it seemed eerily quiet. If Cas and Balthazar were here, they were forced to keep still.

Just as Dean thought that, he heard it.

" _Dean!"_

It was Cas, and he was shouting. He was hoping Dean would hear him.

He didn't shout again, but it was enough. Suddenly not feeling drained anymore, Dean ran towards the door the scream had come from. Sam and Bobby could barely keep up with him.

He broke down the door and rushed in. A woman had a knife at Cas' throat; Balthazar was sitting on the floor not far from them, cuffed and pale.

"Drop the knife" he said calmly.

She looked at him and smiled.

"Dean. Why would I do that?"

"Because otherwise I'll have to use my knife" he replied. Sam and Bobby had come to stand behind him.

"And? Maybe this is not about me surviving. Maybe it is about sending a message". She smiled. "You chose the wrong demon to follow".

"I'm not following anybody" he pointed out. "I do what I want".

Cas was following their conversation. His eyes were fixed on Dean's. The trust he saw in there gave him additional strength.

She smiled, and Dean felt unsure. This wasn't a smile to hide fear; it was a triumphant smile. But even if she succeeded in killing Cas, Dean would cut her throat in an instant. It didn't make sense.

More shots rang through the house. Sam and Bobby were taking care of the other demons.

"I said "maybe"" she said pleasantly, "maybe it was about sending a message. But it really wasn't".

"No?" he asked. In truth, he couldn't have cared less what she thought this was about. He had to get Cas out of here. He would worry about everything else later.

"You should take more of an interest".

"Why?" he asked, making sure to sound as not-interested as possible.

"Because, at this moment" she glanced at her watch "the biggest hospital in town is burning".

Dean stared. Cas' eyes widened, and even Balthazar moved. She laughed.

"It is not easy to throw a town into chaos, but people wounded in the riot, the thunderstorm, the hospital – that should be enough, don't you think?"

His grip around the blade tightened.

He couldn't let himself be blinded by fury. Later there would be more than enough time to be angry at himself. He should have known. He should have known something was going on, that they hadn't simply kidnapped Cas to piss him off.

But she still had the knife at Cas' throat, and that was far more important.

"Let him go" he ordered.

"It's an idea" she said simply, "but I think I'm going to kill him anyway – "

A loud thunder surprised them all. She stood still.

For a moment, Dean didn't understand why, then he felt it.

His powers were returning.

He really had felt rather weak, and the rush made him dizzy. He could feel demonic presence near him, he was stronger, faster, he could see her soul –

Unfortunately, he could tell that she was an old demon, and more powerful than he was. He would have to be quick.

An invisible force hit him and he was thrown against the wall, the knife slipping from his grasp. For a second, everything turned black, then he shook his head and forced himself up.

He listened, but the house was silent. Where were Sam and Bobby?

He tried to get to the knife, but she was already picking it up.

"So this is the famous knife." She studied it "I have to admit the legend is more than the man. I expected something more".

Dean glared at her, calculating how quick he had to be to –

"Hello, Squirrel. I wanted to check in".

They both turned to stare at Crowley, who was standing in front of the door, looking as smug as always, even if his coat was dripping wet.

Her eyes widened and she stepped forward, but Crowley was too old and powerful for her. In the blink of an eye, he was behind her, wrestling the knife out of her hand and plunging it into the back of her neck.

"In trouble as always" Crowley remarked, cleaning the knife on the demon's clothes and throwing it at Dean.

He caught it but was too preoccupied with looking if Cas was alright. He'd got up as soon as the demon took a step away from him and was checking on Balthazar.

He made quick work of their handcuffs.

"You alright?" he asked.

Cas nodded, and Balthazar stood up. He was shaking a little, but insisted he was fine.

Cas went to support him, and Dean wasn't jealous. Why should Cas pay him attention? He had just come to save his ass.

But then the agent looked at him and told him "Thank you" with such an expression that Dean had to look away, mumbling about how it didn't matter, and he came to face Crowley and decided he really didn't like what he could read in the other demon's eyes.

Seeing that Cas was able to take care of Balthazar, he turned to Crowley.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"I like to keep an eye on my investments" Crowley answered. "I do not think you have any right to complain".

He didn't, which was probably why he was so annoyed.

Not that he should be. He had lost sight of preventing them from completing the second part of the ritual.

"Do you know about the hospital?" Best to get it over with immediately. Crowley wouldn't do anything to him – whether or not he had felt didn't matter, he was still a good fighter – and if he wanted to throw a hissy fit, so be it.

But the demon simply answered remarkably calm," Yes. The fire burst out right after the rain stopped. Shortly after, the spell that prevented demons from losing their powers was lifted".

"The rain stopped? There was thunder – "

"It was a signal" Crowley explained impatiently. "The rain had already stopped."

Dean was confused and didn't understand why until he took another look at Crowley.

"Why is your coat wet?"

If the rain had stopped before the demons got their powers back, Crowley shouldn't be wet. He should have teleported here, where he could feel demonic presence, without even walking through one damp street. When the solution presented itself, he blinked slowly.

"You were looking for me, weren't you" he stated matter-of-factly a second later.

"Like I said" Crowley replied, "I like to keep an eye on my investments".

But he was being defensive and they both knew it.

"Dean" Cas asked softly, "could you please get us out of here?"

He had spoken at the right time and, Dean didn't doubt it, on purpose. In a few seconds, the whole dynamic of his relationship with Crowley had changed. Not in any great way – but still.

Dean had never thought that Crowley might actually like him in a demonic sort of way behind all the you-are-going-to-make-me-King-of-Hell thing. But apparently he was important enough to the other demon to come looking for him.

Or maybe it wasn't _like_. Hell, Dean didn't know what it was. Most of the time, he was ready to kill the son of a bitch, and he was sure Crowley reciprocated the sentiment.

And yet, in the middle of torture and blood and pain and rituals, they had found a kind of comradeship.

It was a screwed up comradeship, but it was probably the closest to friendship that could exist between demons.

"Sam and Bobby" he explained. "We have to get them".

"I will" Crowley said immediately. "You look after your boy toy".

Before he could say another word, Crowley had disappeared, and he wondered why he couldn't simply walk from room to room like a normal person.

"What happened?" he asked, coming to stand beside Cas and Balthazar. The latter was able to stand on his own and seemed to be better.

"They kidnapped us, knocked us out. Other than that..." Cas trailed off. "They seemed to be waiting for you".

"I know" Deans said bitterly.

Cas touched his shoulder. Dean looked at him, but the agent obviously didn't care that there was someone else in the room.

"It is not your fault" Cas stated. "I told you I wanted to go on".

"And I wouldn't let him walk into danger alone" Balthazar added. "Cassie's right. It was our own choice".

Dean couldn't help but smile. Cas' hand was still on his shoulder, and it was difficult to concentrate on anyone else.

The door opened and Sam, Bobby and Crowley came in. Cas let his hand drop.

"Hey, Sammy, Bobby. You okay?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Because you faced the most dangerous demon in the building".

"Shut up. I'm awesome".

"Not that I want to interrupt you two, but we should get going. We have a building full of dead bodies".

Dean nodded, and a moment later Crowley had teleported them to Bobby's place.

"Dammit" the old hunter shook his head.

"You'll get used to it" Dean commented, already taking care of Cas and Balthazar.

"Take him upstairs" Bobby said, indicating the later. "He looks like he could use some shut-eye" and Dean and Cas dragged Balthazar out despite his protests.

Bobby and Sam were left alone with Crowley, who had appeared just as they had been contemplating the bodies the demons had left behind and informed them that their friends were well.

"It seems they completed the second part of the ritual" Crowley stated.

"What?" Sam exclaimed.

"Let's wait for Dean. I am sure he'll want to explain" the demon answered. Sam had the feeling that he wasn't as relaxed as he appeared to be, but he wasn't angry at them. Maybe he had known the second trial was lost the moment he heard about Lawrence.

The door opened and Cas and Dean came in.

"Balthazar is resting" the agent explained.

"Dean?" Sam asked. "What is that Crowley tells us – about the ritual?"

The elder Winchester bit his lip. Before he spoke, he took a bottle of Bobby's whiskey and poured each of them a glass. Each of them except Crowley, who as always preferred Craig.

Then he slowly began, "Kidnapping them – it was just a distraction so they could set fire to the hospital. With all the damage of the storm, and the riot – that's more than enough or chaos, according to the demon I spoke to".

He only became aware that his hand had clenched around the glass hard enough to make it tremble when Cas took it away from him and said once more, "It's not your fault".

"He's right, boy" Bobby argued. "Even if we'd known about the hospital, we wouldn't have been able to do much".

Sam had started Bobby's computer and was looking for news.

"The hospital almost burned to the ground, forty victims. Lightning struck several houses, and with the injured from the riot, it is chaos."

Dean groaned.

"Awesome. So what, we have the last part of the ritual that we can't translate?"

"It's better than nothing" Sam answered.

He was about to snap, but Cas said, "he's right. And they didn't start the second phase immediately after they completed the first part. We have time".

Cas was right, he told himself. All wasn't lost yet.

"Any word from Bela?"

The look Crowley sent him was answer enough.

"What is she doing?"

No one even bothered to try and reply to that, and Dean downed the rest of his whiskey.

"Alright" Crowley said, doing the same with his Craig, "I'll try to scrounge up some experts".

Dean nodded. The demon wanted to go to Hell, find some souls who still spoke the old language, make them talk. It was fine by him, as long as they stopped Aynät.

"Later".

With that, Crowley disappeared.

"I don't know about you, but I'm starving" Bobby said, standing up.

He walked to the kitchen, Sam following him not without throwing Dean a shrewd glance.

He and Cas were alone.

He cleared his throat.

"Do you think Balthazar will be alright?"

"They hit him rather hard, but he doesn't have a concussion. All he needs is rest" Cas answered.

Dean looked out of the window.

"I'm sorry" he eventually forced out. "You were never part of this".

"It was my own choice. And Balthazar wanted to help me. You have nothing to be angry at yourself for".

Dean snorted.

"I mean it."

"I know you do" the demon said bitterly. "And that's the problem".

He didn't continue. He didn't want a repeat of what had almost happened – twice. How could he have let it go so far?

"So" Cas said, "the third part of the ritual".

He said it so business-like that Dean couldn't suppress a chuckle.

"Our best bet is Crowley. He should find someone who can translate it".

"He came for you" Cas said quietly. "I'm glad".

Dean hadn't thought about it before, but as he turned around, he saw the fear of losing him in Cas' eyes. He didn't know what to say.

Luckily, Sam called out for them to come to the kitchen before the whole moment became one giant chick flick.

Bobby had cooked another dish with a lot of meal Cas couldn't identify but none the less tasted great.

Sam looked at him quizzically as he ate.

"You really take this whole thing pretty well".

"I am used to tense situation. I'm an FBI agent."

"Yeah, about that – don't you think people will try to find you?"

"As long as Lawrence is still in chaos, they have other priorities" Cas answered simply. "When this is over, we can hide in one of the damaged buildings and tell people that we were trapped. It won't be a problem?" he inquired, turning to Dean.

He shook his head.

"I'll tear down the building myself if you want".

Cas smiled, but Dean looked down at his plate, trying not to show that he would rather not think about it being over and Cas leaving, which was all kinds of fucked up. He should want things to end. Just because a hot FBI agent was around as long as it lasted didn't mean he had to wish for it to continue. He was a hunter, dammit. He could deal.

Apart from being a demon of course, a demon who didn't give a crap about emotions. Almost forgot about that.

"What exactly was going on?" Cas asked. "Crowley mentioned something about your powers – and the demons who kidnapped us didn't use theirs. Why?"

Dean explained.

Cas frowned. "Was that not a disadvantage for Aynät too?"

"Yes but you don't need powers to set something on fire" Dean reminded him. "And they could conceal themselves better. I didn't feel any demonic presence".

He was strangely glad to have his powers back. Not because he hadn't coped well with feeling human, but because it hadn't been exactly feeling human per se. He had been weaker than a human, cut off from his natural powers.

He would've got to them much sooner if he'd had any.

He was stronger now than he had ever been, but more vulnerable too. Maybe he should start training again, fighting like a human without using his demonic abilities. Just in case.

"Did they say anything that could help us?" Sam asked Cas, even though the agent would have told them long before now. As Dean had expected, he shook his head.

"They barely talked until you arrived".

The rest of the day passed in waiting, trying to make sense of the text and very little conversation. Balthazar came down a few hours after they had eaten, his old obnoxious self. Dean ignore the looks he threw him and Cas, just like he ignored Sam's and Bobby's and asked him if he had noticed something. The predictable answer was no.

Eventually, they decided to retire – Balthazar in the room he had already occupied, Sam in another guest room upstairs, and Cas in the room Bobby had given him when he had first arrived.

Dean stayed in the study. He had had to promise Sam that he would try to get some rest later, and he would, but he was sure he wouldn't be successful. He was restless.

He worried about the ritual, he worried about Aynät, and he worried about Cas.

Cas.

That they were attracted to one another was obvious. Everyone noticed. And now he was lying in bed a few rooms away –

He shouldn't think like that. He should concentrate on the task at hand. But he couldn't.

He had to deal with this.

* * *

Cas couldn't sleep. He wondered if Dean was still pacing up and down the study, as he had done when the agent had wished him goodnight two hours ago.

Something had changed between them. Dean had saved him when he shouldn't have; he had lost the chance to stop the demons because he had come for him.

Neither of them had been able to shake off the slight embarrassment they felt in each other's presence. They had been so unreserved with each other when they hadn't been fighting or Cas hadn't foolishly attempted to kiss him. That was gone now.

He didn't know if it was gone for good. The thought scared him. It might be the beginning of a professional relationship, of an end to the attraction that did nothing but make their situation more complicated. Cas should have welcomed the chance. He didn't.

He had feelings for Dean, and they might run even deeper than he had until now admitted to himself.

Once they saved the world – because he had to think that they would succeed, failure wasn't an option – he would go back to his life and would never see Dean again. He had to live with that. He could live with that. But if his feelings should grow stronger, dealing with it would become more and more difficult.

A soft knock sounded on his door. He knew who it was.

He cleared the salt line from the door and opened it. He smiled.

"Hello, Dean".

"Cas, I – " he rubbed his neck.

"Can I come in?"

He stepped aside and the demon strolled in.

"I just – wanted to make sure everything was alright" he finished lamely. He didn't know why he had come. He hadn't even known he was going to Cas' room until his body had started moving.

"I'm perfectly fine" Cas replied quietly.

"Yeah, well, just – fine." Dean turned around. He shouldn't have come.

"Dean" Cas said in the same tone. He had enough of dancing around. He wanted to know what was going on. He wanted to know that they understood one another.

When Dean looked at him, obviously to tell him that he was going, he closed his mouth again and dropped his gaze to the floor.

They did feel the same. Cas was certain of it.

He stepped forward.

Dean looked up, alarmed.

"Cas – "

"Dean" he repeated, moving closer.

Dean looked at him before beginning to walk, slowly, towards him as well.

"This is the point where you should stop me" he told him.

Cas took the last step.


	27. Chapter 27

Cas was burning, every fibre of his being was alight, alert, _alive_ , experiencing sensations he had never known before.

He had had sex, and it had always been pleasant, but never like this. Never had he felt so intensely what he was doing and what was being done to him, never had he felt so well matched with his partner, moving at the right times, eliciting groans as well as uttering them himself; the fire that was coursing through him making it impossible to concentrate on anything but the moment he was in, the man he was with. Nothing was important but this very second.

He had taken the last step, and Dean had kissed him – or maybe he had kissed him, he didn't know, he would never know. The kiss was desperate, passionate, exciting, and any doubt that might have been left in him disappeared.

Between kissing and touching and tearing each other's clothes, they tumbled into bed. He hadn't imagined what it would be like to have sex with the demon – not really, not consciously, although a few fantasies had flitted through his mind, when he had been falling asleep or waking up and unable to control his thoughts – but he was certain that he would never have considered this a possibility.

They spent a long time just kissing and exploring each other's bodies with their fingertips, learning about their battle scars, their hands dancing over skin in a tantalizing yet delicious way.

Time didn't matter. It felt as if it had stopped, had allowed them to have this moment. For as long as they chose.

When it finally happened, Cas believed his body was on fire. This was more than pleasure, more than lust, more than he had ever felt, and he couldn't bring himself to worry about it, couldn't even bring himself to wonder if he should worry about it, because all of his thoughts centred on the man with him, the man he had wanted almost since the moment he had first laid eyes on him.

Even as they moved closer and closer towards the climax, both of them knowing that the other was enjoying this as much as him, as their movements grew less controlled and their breathing became heavier, their touches didn't lose their gentleness, rough moments never became too rough. They fit together. Cas knew now that he would never have been able to escape this, to ignore the attraction between them. His efforts had been fruitless, he had been doomed since he looked into these green eyes for the first time.

And then they were falling over the edge, falling or flying, there was no way to be sure, and he thought he screamed but was only aware of the noises Dean was making, and he finally understood why some people described certain moments and assured others that they could have died in them.

It was over, but the satisfaction lingered. They were lying next to each other, not touching, but feeling each other's warmth.

The panic didn't overwhelm him; he didn't even know if he should call what he felt panic. But after the ecstasy, after the afterglow had somewhat abated, he began to think.

What had he done? He still felt that it had been inevitable; but he had slept with someone he worked with, with a demon. He didn't know if Dean had feelings for him. He didn't know if this meant anything to him. They weren't touching. Neither of them had said a word. As good as he was at reading witnesses, he had always failed when it came to interpret undertones in his own relationships.

Not that this was a relationship. Even without Hell hanging over their heads, he would have found it difficult to believe that that was what Dean wanted. Cas knew what he wanted, but he didn't think there was a chance that he would get it. Especially since Dean seemed to think he wouldn't survive the case.

His heart pounded painfully in his chest as he contemplated that Dean might die.

The demon next to him moved. Cas thought he would get dressed and leave, but he simply sat up and looked down at him.

Their eyes met.

"So, that was – " Dean began. He looked away, then back at Cas. "Awesome" he finished, and Cas couldn't help but chuckle at the pathetic attempt to explain what had just happened.

"Yes it was" he confirmed and a small smile of satisfaction passed over Dean's face before his expression became serious and the agent knew what he would say next.

"It's been fun at all, but it's a one-time-thing" Dean stated, getting out of bed and starting to look for his clothes that had flown into different parts of the room.

"I understand" Cas said softly, sitting up and leaning on his elbow to watch the demon get dressed. If he felt more than he should, it was his problem. Dean had not given him any indication that he wished to pursue a relationship; Cas had known what this was before he had taken the last step.

"Ahem – you – good" Dean answered, still dressing himself, not looking at him. "That's good. So, we still work together?"

"Yes" Cas confirmed. He tried to suppress the satisfaction that Dean still wanted to work with him, the hope that he might care for him after all, but didn't succeed.

"See you tomorrow, then".

And Dean left the room without a look back.

Cas let himself sink back on the bed and rubbed his temples. If things should get awkward, it was entirely his fault. He hadn't been used; Dean hadn't made any promises that he had then broken; he had taken what he wanted and given as much in return, and they had both enjoyed it. Dean had made clear that it was to be a one night stand and had left.

He had treated him somewhat better than a few of the ill-advised one night stands he had indulged in his youth, all things considered.

And yet it had been a foolish thing to do, no matter that he felt he couldn't have prevented it. He had been foolish, he now knew how Dean felt, he would never forget it.

But he couldn't bring himself to regret it.

* * *

 

Dean was the stupidest son of a bitch ever. He hadn't really needed proof, but what he had just done was enough to convince him of the fact.

He had slept with Cas. Cas, the kickass agent who always wore his trench coat, no matter how hot it was; Cas, who was a good man and wanted to solve every case he worked on; Cas, who had protected Bobby for no other reason than that Dean had asked him to.

If his self-loathing hadn't already been re-ignited by being around humans so much, he was pretty sure that would have clinched the deal.

Why had he gone to his room? Why had he stayed? Why had he told Cas that it was his decision when the agent's attraction was obvious? He could answer not a single one of these questions. He hadn't even gone to the room determined to sleep with him; of that, he was sure. But why had he gone there in the first place? He knew himself to well to suppose he had knocked on Cas' door to make sure he was safe.

He had gone there with one purpose and one purpose only, no matter how subconscious the desire had been, and he had got what he wanted.

Cas had too. He had felt it when they agent moved against him; had heard it when he had whispered words of encouragement against his skin; had known it when he looked at Cas afterwards.

And the look they had shared –

Cas would have been more than okay with him staying. And he had wanted to stay.

And that was what had him all but fleeing out of the door.

His feelings were his own business. So he might – like Cas. No biggie. He could deal. But if Cas should feel the same for him, if Cas wanted to –

He might have damned Cas. The thought came quickly and unbidden, and he shoved it away. He couldn't think about that. If he thought about that – He would rather remember Hell. Cas wasn't damned. Cas was a good person.

All the more reason to stay away from him. He'd had one night stands in the past; Hell, ever since he'd got out, he'd had nothing but, and even before his relationships had been short. He would just chalk this up as another one time only thing and forget about it.

Only that he had never felt like this before. Not as a human, not as a demon. How they fit together, how they –

No. He wouldn't think like that. He'd most likely die anyway. Cas would forget all about him once this was over. It was better that way.

He'd risked everything, too. He'd been determined to go after Cas instead of finding out what the demons were doing to the town, and he had let them complete the second part of the ritual. It was his fault.

Why had he gone to his room? So he had ... feelings for Cas. So what.

His thoughts were turning around and around in his head, but he couldn't think of anything else. He'd screwed up, and instead of doing something useful, attempting to translate the rest of the text or figure out where Aynät was, he'd gone and had sex because that was what Dean Winchester did instead of anything that might help.

But all of this was not the worst part.

The worst part was that he didn't regret it. Self-loathing? Sure. Guilt? Of course. Regret? Not a bit.

It had been awesome, and he didn't want it to never happen again, didn't wish it had never happened. On the contrary. He wanted it to happen again and again –

Of course that was completely impossible, but it didn't make him stop –

No. Stop right there. So he had some feelings for Cas. But this made him almost sound – no. He was a demon.

This whole thinking about it thing wasn't working well.

His only consolation was that Sam and Bobby didn't know what had happened. Then again, Sam had always known him better than anyone else. He'd probably take one look at him and start asking questions.

Dean ran his fingers through his hair.

What was done was done; he couldn't change that; but he could – already had – make clear that this was to be the first and only time it happened, and he would keep his distance from Cas.

But first of all, he needed a shower.

* * *

 

Sam was woken up the next morning by a call from Sarah. He picked up, already starting to panic, but she had simply called to tell him that all was well because she knew he would worry and that she had told her father he had to go see his adoptive parent for a few days.

As always, Sam smiled as he hung up.

Sarah was wonderful. She had been everything he needed when he had shown up at her door without ignoring her own needs and wishes; and it had shown soon that they were perfectly matched.

Like...

He bit his lip. The attraction between Dean and Cas was obvious. Sam liked the agent; even if he hadn't been as competent and friendly as he was, his brother's story that he had been going down a darker path until he met him would have ensured that Sam did.

If Dean and Cas were to pursue a relationship, he would be more than happy. There was more than simple physical attraction between them, he was sure of it. They way they looked at one another... And Dean's constant worry about the agent.

Dean deserved something good in his life; he had gone to Hell for Sam and was still fighting it. But he knew his brother. He would do nothing, arguing with himself that he didn't deserve it.

But he did. He deserved everything.

Sam knew that there might arise problems from such a relationship, but frankly, as long as his brother was happy, he didn't care.

For as long as it would last anyway.

He was aware that he would die one day, that they would all die one day, and that Dean would always be young.

Dean would never get to Heaven. One day, there would be a final goodbye and he would never see his brother again.

He swallowed, the good mood from the talk with Sarah gone. Even when Dean had been in Hell, he had always hoped. Against everything, he had hoped that he would return, that a miracle would occur – and it had, although not how he'd thought it would happen.

But if he or Dean were to die –

He had to concentrate on the here and now, on having his brother back. Dean had only just returned. He wouldn't start to freak out over what could happen when the impossible had just taken place.

And he had no intention of leaving Dean behind. If they survived – if they continued to survive, and he would do his outmost that they did – he would find something, something that would save his brother from an eternity of loneliness, himself from an incomplete heaven.

Until he had found it, though, he would settle for seeing his brother happy, and he was determined to talk to him about the agent. If his need to find him, if the look in Cas' eyes after they had was no indication, Sam didn't know what was. It wouldn't be easy; Dean hadn't even been good at talking about his feelings when he had still been human; Sam would try.

He should have known that his best-laid plans never worked.

He took a shower and walked into the study to find Dean looking over the text, and knew that something had happened.

Dean sat – unnatural. His shoulders were tense, and his hands were clenched into fists. Something had definitely happened.

And yet, despite him being obviously stressed out, when he looked up and said, "Morning, Sammy" Sam caught a familiar gleam in his eyes. A gleam that could only mean one thing.

He had known his brother for far too long not to read the signs correctly. Dean had got laid last night.

But he didn't say a thing about it, not as he stood up, not as he walked into the kitchen, not as he told him that he had made coffee, and that could only mean one thing.

It hadn't been an uncomplicated, no-strings-attached one night stand.

It had meant something.

And that meant –

Dean had had sex with Cas. There was no one else who meant enough to him to warrant this silence after finally having got what he wanted.

The only time Dean did that was when things had gone wrong. The sex itself hadn't, if the gleam in his eyes was anything to go by. Which meant things had gone wrong afterwards. Which meant that his brother had not talked about his feelings, but had stumbled out after, probably telling Cas that it was a one time thing and that they should pretend it never happened.

Sam sighed and looked down into his cup of coffee. Bobby was right; Dean wasn't subtle, and even if Sam hadn't known him well, he would still have noticed something was up. He knew his brother's tactics and it was more than likely that he would all but ignore Cas.

Why couldn't he let something good happen to him for once?

His brother was obviously not going to say anything himself. He decided to wait a while before talking to Dean about it. If he were to allude to the subject now, Dean would leave the room or get defensive, and he needed his brother to be honest, to him, to himself, to Cas.

Dean had strolled back into the study without another word and Sam went to see if Cas was up yet. He couldn't talk to his brother, but he could talk to the agent.

Cas was just leaving his room, dressed in the clothes he had worn yesterday – they really had to get him something different to wear, Sam's clothes would be too long, of course, but he thought they could manage with Dean's. Unfortunately, the events of the past night made it a rather difficult subject at the moment – and when he saw Sam, he looked somewhat sheepish.

They both knew instantly that the other knew.

Sam cleared his throat.

"Cas – "

He stopped because he really didn't know how to continue. He and Cas hadn't really talked since they had met, and sleeping with his brother was probably not the best icebreaker. Sam was invested in Cas for the simple reason that he had given him his brother back, or at least helped; he had no idea what Cas thought of him and if his intrusion would be welcome.

"Please" Cas interrupted him, barely-concealed panic in his voice. Then his face lost all expression and he calmly continued, "I appreciate your concern. But Dean and I agreed that it was a one night stand, and any discussion of it would lead to nothing".

Sam studied the stubborn expression on his face. He would get nothing out of him.

He resigned himself to the fact that he could do nothing about these two idiots at the moment and went back to the study, Cas following him.

Bobby was there too, looking over Dean's shoulder and mumbling to himself, a book in his hands. Sam saw Dean tense as Cas entered the room behind him, and of course the older hunter noticed. He looked at Dean, then at Cas and eventually threw Sam a glance that proved he knew exactly what was going on.

Cas muttered something that might have been "Good morning" and Dean responded in kind, but other than that, they seemed to be determined to put as much space between them as possible.

Bobby and Sam shared another glance that clearly stated now was not the time to interfere, and the younger hunter asked about Cas's colleague.

"Balthazar is resting" Cas answered. "I thought it would do him good to let him sleep a little longer".

Sam agreed; the other agent had looked rather done for yesterday.

Half an hour later, Dean angrily threw the book he had been reading against the nearest wall.

"I'm starting to think that whoever wrote this just made something up to fuck with us".

"You ready to take that chance?" Sam asked.

"I'll believe it if you believe it" Dean answered, and Sam was struck at the difference that a few days among them had produced. His brother could easily have flown off into a rage, had already been halfway there, but instead he had answered to his banter in kind. He even picked up the book he had thrown away.

Whether or not he realized it, this had just as much to do with Cas, Sam was sure. They had a connection that had reached a new level last night, although they tried to deny it. The sooner his brother got his head out of his ass, the better.

He glanced at Cas; it was obvious that the agent wished to speak to his brother but didn't know if it would be welcome.

Dean had calmly gone back to reading and for the next few minutes, all that was heard was the rustling of pages and the occasional mumbling of words.

Balthazar came down and apologized for not waking up sooner, but Cas assure him that it was alright; before the agent took up a book Bobby gave him, explaining what he should look for, he stared at his friend. Sam saw his eyes wander to his brother.

Apparently everyone in the house knew what had happened.

Cas was doing his best to read, but every so often, his eyes would be drawn towards Dean. The demon was completely absorbed by his book. He had barely looked at Cas when he had entered the room, and it was obvious that he didn't want to talk to him.

Cas tried to accept his decision. But it was one thing to decide to get over what he knew was a hopeless crush, and another to actually do so, especially when the object of his affections was sitting only a few feet away from him.

He wondered what Dean felt towards him. He shouldn't. It was evidently not the same he felt for Dean, although the demon like him well enough to protect him –

No. That was just because he was useful. Dean had felt the attraction between them, had acted on it, and if Cas wanted more –

He couldn't have more. He had accepted that.

He wished he could believe that he had.

Dean knew Cas kept looking at him. Even though he didn't look up, forced himself to keep reading, he _knew_.

He shouldn't have wanted to look back at him, but he did. Once again, he reminded himself he was a demon. He wasn't supposed to go all chick-flicky over a guy with blue eyes and a trench coat. And they were right in the middle of preventing Hell from breaking loose, too. If there was something Hell hadn't burned away, it was his horrible timing.

He hated himself for how much he wanted to take back what he had said.

He had done the right thing. Cas couldn't have feelings for him. Aside from his belief that he wouldn't survive fighting Aynät, a relationship was out of the question. What would he do ten years from now, when Cas was growing older and he was still as young as ever? And what if – having feelings for a demon was a bad thing? What if...

He told himself to forget about it. Seeing as that hadn't worked before, he didn't think it would now, but one could always hope.

After another hour, Sam was busy discussing a word with Bobby and Dean was ignoring everyone in the room, Balthazar nudged Cas' shoulder. "How about coffee?"

He accepted and they offered to make some for the others too. They thanked them – even Dean gave them a nod, even if he looked at a spot over Cas' shoulder – and they walked into the kitchen.

He had expected his friend to inquire about him and Dean immediately, and he didn't disappoint.

"Cassie, did you get laid last night?"

He kept his voice down, and Cas had closed the door behind them, so that he was reasonably sure the others couldn't hear them.

"Yes" he confirmed because he knew Balthazar wouldn't stop asking until he had his answer.

"So what now?"

He was surprised by his friend's question, but simply said, "We agreed it was a one night stand."

"And what do you want?"

Cas looked down on the floor, the understanding in Balthazar's eyes too much.

"We agreed it was a one night stand" he repeated.

When he met Balthazar's eyes, he was taken aback by the flash of triumph he believed he saw, but it was gone in the next moment. He must have imagined it.

They made coffee, chatting amicably, and filled five cups. Balthazar took three of them and moved towards the study without waiting for Cas; he quickly grabbed the other two and opened the door for him.

He stumbled on the way to the desk. His foot got caught in the carpet, and rather than let the cups drop and regain his balance, he instinctively held on to them and fell against Balthazar, who was shoved to the left of the room.

Cas regained his footing and began to apologize when he realized Balthazar looking up at the ceiling.

He followed his gaze and saw a devil's trap.

He looked back at his friend.

His eyes were white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first sex scene. And because I feel uncomfortable writing smut, it’s sex without sex. Hope you like it anyway.  
> Also, you didn’t think I could let them be happy, did you?


	28. Chapter 28

Cas didn't understand. Balthazar wore the pendant. And why were his eyes white?

He was yanked back and realized that Dean was dragging him away. The cups shattered at his feet.

"Dean?"

"Who are you?" Dean snarled, his eyes black. Cas had the feeling that he already knew.

He was right.

"I do not think I made such a forgettable impression."

The first words out of his mouth, and even Cas recognized the tone.

Alastair. The one who had tortured Dean in Hell and tried to kill him and Bobby.

And he was possessing Balthazar.

"How is that possible? You gave him the pendant" he said.

Dean cursed. "When did you – "

"While you were having your little fight with the demons inside" he replied simply, smiling. When Balthazar had been standing guard.

That meant that all this time –

Cas moved forward without being conscious of it, but Dean grabbed his arm.

"He's too powerful. Stay back".

"He's in a Devil's trap".

Dean's grip on his arm tightened and Cas nodded stiffly. Dean let his hand drop.

"What do you want?" Sam asked calmly.

Dean stared at him.

"Do you really – "

"He could have attacked Cas any time. He was here last night when we were asleep. Whatever his reason for possessing Balthazar is, he is not here to hurt us".

"Well done, Sammy. But then, he was always the intelligent one, wasn't he, Dean?"

Cas felt Dean tense next to him. The knife was in his hand. He hadn't noticed him take it out.

If he used it –

Cas swallowed.

Alastair's taunts continued.

"Did you tell your brother what you did in Hell? How happy you were? Did you tell him that when I let you off the rack, you almost cried with joy and took the knife I handed you without hesitating? How much you enjoyed it? And you didn't care who got put before you. Murderers? People who made deals? It was all the same..."

Bobby doused him with holy water and Cas winced as he watched steam coming from his friend's wounds.

"Don't hurt him" he pleaded even as he knew it was hopeless. They had to get the information. And the holy water wouldn't hurt him in the long run. Not like the knife.

He glanced at Dean.

He was staring at Alastair, and Cas didn't like his expression. He looked much more than the demon he had first met, and he looked at Alastair like he wanted to rip him apart.

If he put his mind to it, they couldn't stop him. If he should move, if he should simply jump into the devil's trap and raise the knife...

"So silent, Dean? You weren't silent on the rack. You were screaming like the weak boy you are. Remember? You cried for me to stop".

Dean moved. Cas didn't know how or why, but he grabbed Dean's shoulder and he stopped.

His eyes were black again.

"Dean" Cas said. "Dean".

The demon stood still. Slowly, his eyes moved from Alastair to Cas.

And Cas felt that this was important, that if he couldn't bring Dean back from the edge now, Alastair would push him over and the man he knew, the man he –

Dean would be gone. There was something dark lurking behind his eyes, ready to consume him; Cas had seen glimpses of it before, when he had been angry, when he had mentioned Hell, but now he saw it clearly, and he didn't want to lose him to this.

"Don't let him get to you" he said softly. He had needed to use this words more than once, usually on a younger colleague when a suspect proved too stubborn or too clever and time was running out; but they had never mattered as much as they did now. He was fighting for his friend's life. He was fighting for Dean's soul.

Sam and Bobby had moved closer.

Dean blinked and wanted to take another step towards the devil's trap. Cas grabbed his arm tighter.

"Dean!" Sam called out his brother's name at the Sam time that Bobby said, surprisingly calm, "Concentrate, you idjit".

His eyes were locked on Cas' the whole time, and finally he took a deep breath and the black slowly receded. He blinked at the agent with his green eyes and shook his head.

Alastair continued to taunt him, but Dean didn't appear to listen as he kept staring at Cas before finally saying, "We need more holy water".

Cas breathed a sigh of relief and his hand dropped away from Dean's arm.

Bobby went to get some, while Sam stayed close. Dean smiled at him, and the younger Winchester relaxed. Cas looked at Balthazar.

Everything since that night had been a lie. Every talk, every time Balthazar had been there for him.

He should have realized. There had to have been a clue, an indication, anything, that it wasn't Balthazar he was talking to, that his friend was possessed, screaming for help in his own mind –

"Stop it" Dean said harshly. "We've all been where you are".

Cas flinched. He knew Dean was right. They were experienced hunters.

Dean's wasn't the friendliest approach, but it worked. For now, at least.

Bobby came out of the kitchen with more holy water and handed a bottle to each of them.

By unspoken agreement, they stepped forward, building a wall between Cas and Alastair.

"Protecting your friend, I see" the demon said. "You didn't care much about others in the pit..."

The tone – it was so wrong. Cas had heard it before, of course, in that very same house, but with Balthazar's voice, it was worse. It was too soft, and the speaker took too much pleasure in hurting others with his words. It was exactly the tone of voice Cas could imagine a torturer in Hell to have.

He swallowed when the thought that Balthazar was already dead crossed his mind.

"What did Aynät tell you to do?" Sam asked casually. Cas had never told Balthazar Aynät's name; the demon didn't know how far they had got; but he didn't look surprised. There was the same smile on his face, the same look of mirth in these white eyes.

"Why should I tell you?"

Sam doused him with holy water again. Dean took a step to the side to avoid any drop to land on him; but Cas noticed something else. He had put the bottle on the table and the knife in his pocket.

He was determined not to be the one who got the information out of Alastair.

Alastair wanted him to, though.

That became clear in the next half hour.

He didn't answer one question, no matter how many different approaches they tried and how much holy water and salt they used on him; he only smiled and fixed his eyes on Dean, still making comments. About Hell. About the torture Dean had sustained and that he had inflicted.

Dean stayed quiet, letting the others do the talking, even Cas, who had decided he could help his friend best if he took action.

It was inevitable that Alastair began to taunt him as well.

"I thought that the FBI's best would be more observant. All this time, he has been here, screaming, waiting for you to notice, waiting for you to help..."

"Where is Aynät?" Cas asked once again. He wouldn't allow Alastair to see how his words affected him. Dean did the same. He kept himself a little farer away from the demon than the others.

He didn't get lost in his head again. It was the best thing to come out of the situation.

Alastair didn't answer a single question, and after fruitless hours, Dean threw his bottle of holy water on the floor and beckoned them to follow him.

He closed the kitchen door and said quietly, "This isn't working".

"But what can we do?" Sam asked. "Do you – "

He stopped. Dean looked at him.

"No. I don't think he'll give in". He looked at the door.

"Not if we stick to the holy water" he added softly, and Cas stared at him.

"Are you suggesting – Dean, Balthazar is in there!"

"Or he could be lying" the demon argued.

"Look at me and tell me you're convinced he's lying" Cas said.

They stared at one another. Cas couldn't read him. It felt like centuries had passed since last night.

Dean dropped his gaze. It was answer enough.

"Whether or not Balthazar is in there, nobody is torturing anybody" Sam stated. Dean opened his mouth, but the younger Winchester shook his head.

"Cas is right. You can't let him get to you. If you use the methods he taught you..."

Dean looked at Sam, at Cas, who was staring at the floor, at Bobby who hadn't said anything but nodded when Sam had spoken.

They were right. Not only couldn't he risk Balthazar's life – the guy had fought with him, and he was a good friend of Cas.

He had seen enough crap happen to people who helped them. Not today.

And Sam had been right too.

If he went in there and tortured Alastair, he didn't know what would leave the room afterwards.

There had been a moment – after the demon had started to taunt him – when only one thought had been going through his mind: Kill Alastair. Before he had broken, before he had taken up torturing himself, the one thing that prevented him from giving in had been fantasies about what he would do to Alastair if he should ever be at his mercy. And now he was.

At first, he had been conscious only of this desire, to finally destroy the one who had created him, but then he had felt pressure on his arm and heard his friends call out to him.

Bobby.

Sam.

Cas.

_Cas._

Whose friend was possessed by a demon and who still had enough presence of mind to steady him, to tell him that he shouldn't let it get to him, to bring him back.

He was a good, strong man and Dean had screwed up his life.

More than he'd already thought, even.

His friend was possessed and they couldn't exorcise the demon – at least not yet – not while there was still a chance that they could get information out of him. And there was. Dean knew Alastair, knew him from hundreds of years of fire and pain and blood, and the demon would tell the truth if he knew it was going to screw with their heads, make them suffer.

He was certain that Alastair wasn't really interested in Hell on earth. He wasn't really a follower, a believer of Aynät's; he simply wanted what he had always wanted. Fresh victims.

Dean didn't know if Alastair remembered being human, but he knew that he wouldn't have cared if he did. He was one of the few demons who had never voluntarily sought a way out of Hell, a creature of fire and screams, who was happy to do what he was created to do.

Dean couldn't remember a word, a motion, a smile of his that hadn't been intended to torture others.

The hatred that had been burned into his very core coursed through him again. The knife felt heavy in his pocket.

One look at Cas, who had raised his eyes to meet Dean's, was enough to ground him again.

He tried to find other options to make Alastair talk than throwing holy water and salt at him and hope that he eventually would speak.

He could think of nothing.

They couldn't offer him a deal. They couldn't torture him. Even if he gave into his desire, it was likely that Alastair would tell them nothing. Someone who had watched and enjoyed so much suffering wouldn't break down quickly. If they exorcised him, Balthazar would be free, but Alastair would soon climb out of Hell. Aynät would make sure of it.

Keeping him here and waiting was their best option, but he didn't trust himself not to kill him.

He could keep it under control, could stay human – or was he just pretending? Who said he wouldn't creep out of his room tonight, when the others were asleep, exhausted after hours of useless questioning, and –

"Dean."

Again it was Cas who gently said his name.

Dean sighed.

"Let's try again".

The next hour proved as frustrating as the ones before. It was mostly Dean who did the questioning now, the other listening. He didn't get tired and they needed to keep their strength.

Alastair was getting more and more quiet, but it was too much to hope that they were slowly breaking him down.

He was enjoying what he had done. He had left them tired and almost hopeless, and he was enjoying it. Dean stared at his true face. He had never hated anyone as much, and he never would again.

He wondered what he was doing to Balthazar. He was too much of a bastard to keep him knocked out. He probably enjoyed the struggle, the helplessness of the agent's soul.

Dean's hands clenched into fists. He purposefully kept his arms stiff. He wouldn't give the knife to one of the others – if something should happen, he could react more quickly than anyone of them – but he didn't want his arm to brush against it.

He didn't want to tempt himself.

When Alastair hadn't said a word for ten minutes, he decided it was time to give up. He wouldn't play the demon's games. He had been forced to do that often enough.

They went to the kitchen again and he said immediately, "Let's exorcise him."

"And then what?" Bobby asked.

Dean shrugged. "I'm sure we'll find something".

It was far from reassuring, but it was all he had. He could of course have called Crowley, but the demon would simply torture Alastair without taking into account that Balthazar was in there, and he couldn't let that happen.

He would have, what felt like a long time ago. But Sam and the others were right; he wouldn't start torturing again. And when he and Sam had tried to extract information of demons before he had gone to Hell, it had always been people he hadn't known.

But he knew Balthazar, knew of his support for Cas and his desire to see this through even though he didn't have to, and he would do his outmost to save him.

"Okay" Sam said. "Let's do it".

"Your first exorcism" Bobby commented, looking at Cas. "It could get ugly".

Cas nodded and they moved into the living room.

"Giving up so soon?" Alastair asked.

They didn't answer. There was no point in giving him further ammunition.

"You wanna do the honours?" Bobby asked and pushed a book of exorcisms into Dean's hand. Then, another thought crossed his mind and he quickly asked, "I mean, if – "

"It's my own body. I can't be exorcised". He could feel it in his bones. The moment he had slipped back into his body, the feeling of belonging had overwhelmed him. He was pretty sure that he was the first demon to have done it – the bodies they'd left behind when they had died were not in any condition to return to usually, and even if they did remember and could restore them like Crowley had Dean's, they didn't care. But Dean did. Being in his own skin felt comfortable, nothing like the short period he'd possessed a guy to find Crowley.

He and his body belonged together, and he had known instinctively that no exorcism would work on him. At the time he didn't think much about it because he didn't intend to get close enough to a hunter to ever have it become an issue; now he was glad.

Of course Alastair wouldn't suffer, would even welcome the brief stint in Hell before he returned. But that was a good thing, too. Because if Alastair were to suffer, Dean would enjoy it, and that could turn him into something he'd rather not be right now when he was trying to save the world.

He wouldn't have needed the book; even after all this time, he hadn't forgotten one word. But he still nodded at Bobby gratefully and began.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii – "

He stopped because Alastair started to laugh and he knew that was never a good sign.

"Do you really think I taught you everything?" he asked and his smile made Dean's skin crawl.

Alastair began to mumble something. Dean didn't recognize it, but suddenly, the ceiling on which the devil's trap was painted began to tremble and he understood.

Before he could cry out, the trap burst and Alastair stepped forward.

"Get out!" Dean shouted. He pulled the knife out of his pocket, his eyes fixed on the demon. He didn't have much hope that they would leave him behind, but he had to at least try. He knew Alastair. He was capable of killing them all within seconds. He wouldn't. He would draw it out, enjoy it.

Dean would have to get him first.

The demon's power knocked him against the wall. He felt the plaster cracking and barely managed to hold on to the knife.

There was the sound of holy water being thrown, and the sickening one of another body being thrown against a wall, and he jumped up. Sam was lying on the floor to his right, panting. Bobby and Cas were still standing, both slowly moving closer, circling Alastair.

The demon only let them for fun, he knew, and he wanted to move, but couldn't. He pushed against Alastair's powers, but the demon only smiled at him, and he could feel Cas' eyes on him but couldn't answer his gaze with one of his own because he couldn't even move his eyes.

He tried everything. Every move against Alastair's powers caused pain to shoot through him, pain he knew, pain he had felt many times.

And Alastair spoke to him.

It was like he was back in Hell. The demon had always enjoyed playing with his mind, using hallucinations, making him believe for a moment that he had escaped or showing him how he tortured Sammy. But this was real.

And he could do nothing as Alastair's words sounded in his head.

_Just like the old times. I've missed this._

He didn't answer consciously, but of course he could read his thoughts.

_And you are just the same. Too pathetic for a demon. And I had high expectations. You were a natural talent. The screams you got out of them..._

Dean pushed against the powers even more desperately.

_They were nothing in comparison though to what I will do to them._

He could hear Cas and Bobby talking and believed Sam had got up, but all he could do was stare at Alastair's true face.

He couldn't fight his powers.

But maybe –

They had a connection. Alastair was talking to him. What if –

_Do not hope. Haven't I taught you anything?_

But it was all he could do, and Dean extended his mind.

He was not a powerful demon. He was a good torturer, but he had never developed strong powers like Alastair or Crowley. They were older than him, true, but he still felt that he would never achieve their level, probably because he was still too human.

There was a connection, though, and he would exploit it. To read his thoughts, to communicate with him, Alastair had to keep his own mind opened, attuned with his, and he could use that.

He met with remarkably little resistance; maybe Alastair didn't notice. Maybe it was a trap. Whatever the reason, it was the only thing he could do, that might help. Maybe, if he pushed far enough, he would learn something about Aynät –

He didn't. Alastair threw him back into his own mind, but not before he had caught a glimpse of a train of thought.

_Doesn't know – soon – weak –_

None of that sounded good.

 _Let's see,_ Alastair said, and Dean tried to move again but the pain was too strong, _I think I'll kill the old one first. Nice and slowly. So that you can watch and learn._

Alastair was moving in the room now; Dean's eyes still stayed glued on his, so that he caught a glimpse of the others now and then. They were still unharmed.

Toying with them. He was only toying with them.

_Then Sam. Remember what I made you watch in Hell? Let's see how the real thing holds up._

Dean tried, he tried everything, but he couldn't break free. He didn't care about the pain. He had felt it so often, what did it matter now? But not them. He couldn't stand there and watch them die –

Suddenly, he was free.

He should have know that it was a trap, but he was too relieved to be able to move, too worried, too _human_ to care as to why he could propel towards Alastair.

Of course it had been another form of torture. Give him hope, only to snatch it away.

This time, he didn't paralyze him. Instead, he attacked him with his bare hands.

They rolled over the floor, intertwined, and Dean realized his mistake. He should have dodged Alastair. The others couldn't use holy water now. They would hit Dean too.

The knife was still in his hand. Even if he'd had time to think about it, he would have known that he couldn't consider Balthazar now. Alastair would kill them all if they didn't kill him first.

He managed to pin him down on the floor, the knife closer and closer to the demon's chest –

Another push of his powers and Dean flew across the room, as well as the others, if the sounds were anything to go by.

He could hear them calling out to each other and to him but couldn't pay attention because Alastair was kneeling in front of him and –

He had the knife.

And now Dean couldn't move again – no, that wasn't exactly true. He could move his eyes, this time.

Whatever was about to happen, Alastair wanted him to watch.

_I think Sam will be the first, after all. Enjoy the show._

Unlike Dean, the others were allowed to try and do something, even though they couldn't leave the room.

Why hadn't he taken into account that Alastair must possess powers greater than he had shown Dean? There had been no reason to use them in Hell.

He should have used the knife on him the moment he knew who he was.

_As always – too late. You are still too weak to do what must be done._

Another wave of pain hit him, making it impossible to think or see, and then he could see again and wanted to scream and _couldn't_.

Alastair was advancing towards Sam, who was pressed against a wall; Bobby and Cas tried to advance, but were thrown back every time.

Dean could already see it in his mind, how the knife would tear Sam apart, slowly, how Bobby and Cas would be next and how he would be made to watch, unable to –

The knife came closer and closer to Sam's chest –

"Balthazar".

Cas spoke. Dean stared at him. He looked pale, but determined; there was a scratch on his cheek, but otherwise he appeared unharmed.

"Balthazar. If you are in there, we need your help. I need your help. You told me I would always have "little old you", remember? Please. I know you can do it – "

Alastair laughed and turned around, walking towards Cas. Bobby tried to interfere but was hit with the demon's powers and stayed lying gasping for air a few feet from Dean.

The demon moved closer to the agent, but Cas didn't step back. He was still focused on Balthazar's face.

"Please" he repeated. He added, quietly, "You're my best friend."

Alastair stopped and a strange look came into his eyes. Something was going on; Dean studied his true face and tried to find out what, but everything happened so fast that it was impossible, and he could move and just acted and tackled Alastair, and the knife flew into a corner.

Alastair was struggling, but it wasn't against Dean. Words came from his mouth, and Dean had to move back because he was wriggling so much, impossible to hold on to.

"I – sorry – can't – strong".

Balthazar. He had heard Cas and he was fighting.

Alastair was strong, though, and Dean was propelled against the nearest wall again, next to Sam, and he was laughing.

"Always enjoyed the fighters" he said, and just as he raised his hand, Cas stabbed him in the back.

He must have got the knife. The wound flared up, and there was pain in the demon's eyes, his true face contorted, but it didn't gave Dean the pleasure he had so often imagined he would feel.

In a broken voice that had nothing of Alastair's tone in it, he pressed out "Cas" before he fell down.

Sam and Dean slid off the wall. Bobby got up.

Cas stood in the middle of the room, staring at his friend's body.

Alastair was gone.

But so was Balthazar.


	29. Chapter 29

Baltahazar was dead.

Castiel had lost colleagues before; in a link of work as his, it was inevitable.

But he had never lost a friend. He had never had a friend at work, except for Balthazar. And the other agent, despite his preference of ignoring the rules, had always managed to get out of difficult situations. This time he hadn't.

And he wouldn't have died if it were not for Cas.

If he hadn't dragged him into this, if he hadn't told Balthazar what was going on –

It helped little to remind himself that he had insisted that he had to know; it had been in Cas' power to refuse. It was unlikely that Balthazar would have gone to Henricksen.

But Cas hadn't wanted to take that risk, and he had told him, and now his friend was dead.

He kneeled down and pulled the knife out of Balthazar's back. He turned him around.

Balthazar's eyes were closed. He was pale and lifeless. It was wrong. For as long as he had known him, Balthazar had always been full of energy, talking, laughing –

But he was gone. Dead. And Cas had killed him.

_It felt like hours, but it could only be minutes since Alastair broke out of the trap._

_They had had to watch helplessly as Dean got thrown around, pinned against the floor and tortured emotionally; it wasn't difficult to guess that Alastair was communicating with him in some way and that every word hurt Dean._

_Again and again they had tried to throw holy water at him, Sam and Bobby had attempted to recite exorcism only to be stopped by his powers; they couldn't make plans, they couldn't leave Dean; they were helpless._

_And Alastair was enjoying himself._

_Cas knew what it looked like when someone liked inflicting pain on others. He had seen it too often not to. And Alastair –_

_This wasn't just a demon, this wasn't simply the picture Cas had grown accustomed to. This was someone representing everything he had ever imagined Hell to be like. And he was able to kill them all._

_But not before having had his fun with them._

_Cas searched for an option, an answer, anything that could help them escape._

_Escape was all they could hope for. Balthazar was as good as lost, he realized, pain sweeping through him. He had thought he had done everything for his friend's protection, had taught him to draw devil's trap and to use salt lines on doors and windows, and yet they had ended up here._

_He didn't want, couldn't allow himself to ponder what Alastair had done to Balthazar. He could have kept him conscious just so that he had someone to torture when he was bored._

_And Balthazar, his friend, unable to cry for help._

_How he must have struggled –_

_But that was just it, he realized as he was once again pushed back. Balthazar. He might still be in there, fighting._

_Dean got lose and hope flared up in his chest, but it was short-lived. Alastair had simply been playing them, another love at their expense._

_And he was going to hurt Sam._

_Now that Cas had seen the brothers interact, now that he had seen how natural they fit into each other's lives, he knew what that meant, and he and Bobby made a desperate rush, of course to no avail._

_Just as Alastair had the knife, the knife he had taken from Dean, the knife they didn't stand a chance against Aynät without, at Sam's chest, he spoke._

_He had to try. Balthazar was in there._

_Maybe he could save them after all. Always act like the victim was still alive. Always act like you could get everyone out alive. The lessons had been drilled into him again and again._

" _Balthazar. If you are in there, we need your help._ I _need your help. You told me I would always have "little old you", remember? Please. I know you can do it – "_

_He hadn't thought about what he was going to say, had simply started talking. His words had no effect. He didn't know what to do. The demon was coming towards him, Dean's knife in his hand, Balthazar's body at his command, and there was nothing he could do._

_He tried once more._

" _Please"._

_And then, for the first and last time, he spoke the words he had never even contemplated before, but were none the less true._

" _You're my best friend."_

_He felt the change before he noticed Balthazar's eyes going soft. The next step he took forward – it wasn't as determined, as to the purpose, and then he stopped._

_And there his friend was._

_Dean tackled him, but not before Cas had seen the regret and sorrow and pain in his eyes. The knife flew into a corner and he ran to get it. Maybe he could threaten Alastair with it, make him leave his body –_

_But then he heard what Balthazar was saying, and knew it wasn't directed at Dean, who had been forced to move away because he couldn't hold unto him._

" _I – sorry – can't – strong"._

_It was obvious that he didn't have Alastair under control completely – Sam was still pinned to the wall, and Bobby apparently couldn't move either – and he didn't think he could subdue him. Cas knew his friend rarely admitted that someone had the upper hand._

_It was hopeless._

_He looked at the knife in his hand. He was still able to move and, apart from a scratch on his right cheek that was bleeding a little from when he had fallen against the table and cut himself, he wasn't injured._

_It was almost as if Alastair had wanted to spare him._

_But whatever the reason, he could act._

_And when he saw Alastair trap Dean, he knew there was only one way._

_He wouldn't allow him to hurt Dean again or possess Balthazar for one minute longer. Even if that meant –_

_Alastair was raising his hand and the time for thinking had gone._

_He stabbed him._

_Knowing Balthazar would die, knowing he was responsible for the death of the only real friend he had ever had._

_And yet, as the sparks flew out of the wound, Balthazar spoke._

_This wasn't Alastair. Gone was the smooth tone. That was Balthazar._

" _Cas – "_

_And in that one word, he conveyed that he forgave him._

_Cas had sat beside him on enough stake outs and during enough meetings to be able to tell, and it hurt._

_And then Balthazar was dead and he was looking at his corpse._

None of them had said a word. They were all looking at the agent, who had turned his friend around and was studying his face.

As if that would bring any answers.

Dean had been around long enough to learn that bad stuff happened to good people again and again. That didn't make it easier when it did happen.

He didn't know what to say. Cas was hurting, and he wanted to – comfort him? Even when he had been human, that had never been his forte.

He had expected Sam to step forward, but when he looked at his little brother and Bobby, who had come to stand beside him and looked thankfully as unharmed as the younger Winchester, if a little worse for wear, he found both of them looking at him expectantly.

He knew, of course, that he should be the one to talk first. He had screwed the guy, and he was the reason he and Balthazar had known the truth to begin with. But what if Cas didn't want to talk? What if he didn't want to see him? What if he told him it was over?

There was nothing to be over, and yet he felt that it was unacceptable.

He stepped forward.

"Cas?"

"He fought Alastair" the agent said quietly, his eyes still on his friend's face.

"Yeah" Dean replied, "yeah, he did". At the time, he hadn't thought about it much, too occupied with making sure they survived; but it was impressive to say the least.

"You have to be damn strong to do that" he continued, "to fight possession like that".

The last one he had seen subdue a demon had been his Dad, and that was a can of worms he definitely didn't want to open. Balthazar had conquered one of the most powerful demons Dean had ever seen, had allowed them to win.

At the cost of his life.

Dean took another step forward, and Cas looked up to meet his eyes.

He extended the hand he held the knife in, the one with Balthazar's blood on it, and Dean took it.

Then, Cas said slowly, "I don't want him to be buried anonymously".

Like the other meatsuits. Dean nodded.

"We'd be gone if it weren't for him" Bobby said. "Screw it all, we'll give him a hunter's wake in my yard. I'll be on the look-out, make certain no one drops by".

Cas nodded gratefully.

If they should bring Balthazar back to Lawrence and wait for his body to be discovered, it would result in a murder investigation and more than likely in Cas being either a witness or a suspect, both of which he had no intention to be. He didn't want to lie more than necessary; and since quite a few people had vanished in Lawrence in the storm, as Sam had informed them last night, probably being possessed by demons, it was better to let the FBI believe that Balthazar was one of them. Cas could tell them that they had lost one another in the riot.

Balthazar had no family he was close to, and he had never spoken much about his friends.

But he had Cas here to mourn for him, and a hunter's wake seemed the right way to do it. Balthazar had fought against demons. He had been a hunter, if only for a short while.

Bobby explained that they were in the habit of burning their dead to make sure they didn't come back as ghosts as they made the pyre. He had insisted on helping. The old hunter told him about the long tradition, when it had first been recorded that ghosts were taken care of by fire, and more besides.

Cas was grateful that Bobby understood that he didn't want to think, didn't want to talk about what had just happened; about Balthazar, Dean suffering, Sam pinned to the wall, Bobby all but unconscious and –

Dean being so kind.

He'd taken the first step towards him, and when he had given him the knife his eyes had been so soft that Cas had only wished he could hug him.

But there were boundaries they wouldn't cross, never again, as he had made clear, and Cas had no other choice but to respect them.

Certainly enough had happened in the meantime. The night with Dean felt like a half-forgotten dream.

He'd never know what Balthazar had really thought about it. He'd never know what his friend had felt since Alastair had possessed him.

His hands trembled and he almost let the log fall. Bobby took it and said, "Go inside and have a glass of water. Breathe".

He nodded and went into the kitchen. He was feeling slightly dizzy, and it might have to do with the fact that he hadn't had anything to drink for hours.

The house was quiet. Balthazar's body lay where he had fallen; they had crossed his arms over his breast and wrapped it in a sheet.

Instead of going to the kitchen, Cas walked into the study and stood beside him.

It was the first time he was alone with what was left of his friend.

"Thank you" he said quietly. "For everything".

Then he turned around to get himself a glass of water. There wasn't anything else to say. Balthazar would have understood.

He drank slowly, trying to relax. Aynät was still out there. He couldn't let himself be consumed by grief.

Dean cleared his throat behind him and he turned to face the demon.

He looked unsure and his eyes darted around at the kitchen, fixing on anything but Cas.

"Sam is working on the text" he informed him. Cas nodded.

"Is Bobby – "

"He's not done yet".

"I'm sorry" Dean suddenly said.

Cas was tempted to ask him for what. For showing up, for saving his life, for telling him about demons, for being tortured by Alastair, for Aynät trying to complete the ritual? He didn't. Dean didn't deserve his anger. He hadn't killed Balthazar.

"How are you doing?"

Part of him wanted to snap at Dean, to tell him it was obvious, but he knew where this anger came from and that it wasn't constructive.

He continued to sip his water. The silence hung heavy between them. He decided that he might treat Dean better; after all, he had come to see he how he was doing. Now was not the time to talk about the night they spent together, but he could at least be honest with him.

"I'm angry and grieving" he told him.

"I guess that's normal" Dean supplied.

"Yes" Cas answered, "I guess".

Normal had become something he could barely remember in the last few days. Normal had been working cases, returning to his apartment, going back to work to solve more cases. Normal had been discussing procedures and the budget with Henricksen, talking to Balthazar when he had the feeling he was out of his depth, lunch at the cafeteria.

Normal had been not sleeping with demons and stabbing his best friend in one day.

"Well, anyway, I – better look if Sam's made any progress" Dean finished rather lamely, cursing himself, and fled the kitchen.

That went well. He'd wanted to know how Cas was coping, and now he knew that he was grieving. Who would have guessed. He should have stayed away.

Then again, that was his usual thought about the agent.

And Balthazar –

Sam was working upstairs in his room for the same reason they all had decided to vacate the study: out of respect.

Overcoming possession was hard enough when it was a normal demon, but with someone like Alastair – somehow he had managed to subdue him long enough for them to fight.

He remembered the expression on Alastair's true face but it gave him no satisfaction.

Cas was angry and grieving and it was his fault for dragging him into this in the first place.

He knocked on Sam's door and opened it after he'd heard a distracted mumble that he took for "Come in".

Sam looked up.

"How is he doing?"

Dean shrugged his shoulders.

"Coping".

Sam waited for him to continue, then put the book away.

"Dean".

His brother was rather unsuccessfully trying to come up with a topic that wasn't the end of the world or Cas.

"Dean" he repeated.

"You do realize you will have to talk about it eventually – "

Dean looked at him. The Sasquatch was determined to talk about and talk about it now, and Dean could do nothing against it accept leave, which would only result in a bitchface and said Sasquatch following him, so it was better to get it over with. There was no point in denying his feelings. As pointless as they were, Sam knew about them.

"I'm sure that would go down well. "Hey, I know your friend died and all, but remember last night? I'd really like to do that again, so why don't you take off your clothes"".

Sam frowned – as he'd known he would – and replied, "I wouldn't take that approach".

Dean sighed. "Damn it, Sam, we've got bigger problems. And..." he trailed off.

"And?" Sam prompted.

"Do you really need me to spell it out for you?"

Sam's silence proved that he did.

"I'm a demon" Dean said bluntly. "I'm a demon, and I'm immortal, if I don't die, which is more than likely, and even if I don't – I'll stay young and you're all growing old, and I'm going to lose everyone".

It was the first time he had spoken it aloud.

Sam stood up.

"Dean – "

"It's true, Sammy. You know".

"Yeah, but – we have seen so many things – there has to be something that –"

"Can turn me back human? Is that what you're saying? Don't you think anyone would know about that?"

Dean went to the window and looked out at Bobby's yard. In the distance, he could see that the old hunter had finished the pyre and was walking back to the house.

"Dean – " Sam said slowly. "You don't have to die".

Of course he would pick that subject. Of all the openings Dean had just given him –

"I said it's likely. And if it's not Aynät, it's gonna be something else. I'm a hunter". He noticed that considering he had only just proclaimed he was a demon this might sound a little strange, but couldn't care less. He was a hunter, had only pretended not to be in the months after he had got out of Hell.

"We don't all die young" Sam argued, and it gave Dean a stab to hear his younger brother include himself in the hunters' community again. Just like that. He had got out. How many lives had he ruined by deciding to interact with humans again?

"Stop it" Sam ordered, with a bitchface of epic proportions. "Yeah, I have a good life. Thanks to you, I might add. But there wasn't a day when I didn't think about you or miss you. And I never really stopped thinking of myself as a hunter. You know we don't just quit".

Dean looked out of the window again. He was not going to cry, dammit.

"And there's more than one way. I could help Bobby, take calls, or search for information. Pass it on. But – " Sam stopped, and the silence stretched so long that Dean wondered if he would continue. He did. "But don't make me live without you. Not again. Just – don't die".

And now Sam was crying, so Dean turned around and a few tears escaped him too, and they hugged, and it may have been a chick-flick moment, but he didn't care.

"I'll try my best" he said, honestly. He couldn't promise that he wouldn't die. If he could kill Aynät at the cost of his own life, he would do so gladly. But he would try.

Sam pulled back, smiling a little.

"Good enough for me. Now, about Cas –"

"No."

"But – "

"Sam, I said no".

"You deserve to have something that makes you happy" he said softly, and Dean, deciding that his brother would not stop talking about it but that he'd heard more than enough about it for today, left. Sam made no move to stop him.

He met Bobby downstairs, who told him that all was ready.

He called Sam and went into the study. Cas was waiting by Balthazar's body. Without saying anything, Dean moved to help him pick it up.

They carried him out to the pyre, Sam and Bobby following. They placed him in the middle.

Bobby handed Cas a torch and a lighter. They hadn't spoken since they had left the house.

Cas quickly lighted the torch and used it to set the pyre on fire. Soon, the flames encased the body and the smell of burning flesh rose into the air.

Bobby patted Cas on the shoulder, told him gruffly that he was sorry and went to make sure no one came in from the street.

Sam stood at a distance, Dean a little closer.

Cas watched the burning remains of his friends.

He had known Balthazar longer than anyone else he still spoke to, if he didn't count Gabriel who was God knew where doing God knew what.

They had met in the Academy. Cas had been running late for the first time since he had begun his education, and Balthazar, who was never punctual to begin with, had met him in the corridor and asked, "Do you always dress like that or do you think that's what agents have to look like?"

Cas, in his usual suit and trench coat combination, had given him a look that he had laughingly declared as "squinting disapprovingly".

From that day on, Balthazar had been one of the few colleagues he chose to talk during a break, the only one he really enjoyed talking to.

There had never been more between them but a professional relationship and a friendship Cas hadn't acknowledged until it was too late, despite Balthazar's bisexuality and his own fluidity on the Kinsley scale. There had never been attraction, only affection and comradeship, and Cas had been too stupid to recognize it for the friendship it was until Balthazar had conquered a demon for him.

He had killed the best friend he had ever had.

He stood there, watching the remains burn. He should have been concerned for Bobby, worried that someone would smell or see the fire, but he wasn't.

The whole world had gone still the moment he had stabbed Balthazar in the back.

There was warmth standing next to him, and he looked away to find Dean at his side, looking at the pyre as well. He was obviously uncomfortable, the sigils he had left to protect Bobby draining his powers, but he was there.

He didn't break the silence. He'd said all he had to say. Cas had never understood why people felt the need to assure one again and again that they were sorry for one's loss, but he supposed everyone grieved differently.

Dean understood him well enough to know he didn't want or need to talk.

Without thinking about it, he let his hand brush Dean's and intertwined their fingers. The demon gave no indication that he liked it, didn't squeeze his hand or pull him closer, but he didn't let go.

Cas kept holding his hand until the smoke became too much and they had retreat to the house.

They didn't see Sam's smile.

It took a long time for a body to burn, but the hunters' expertise ensured that it was done in the least amount of time possible. At nightfall, Cas threw Balthazar's ashes into the wind.

He had spent the day researching, going through a few of the many books in Bobby's library, talking as little as possible. They had kept their distance, for which Cas was grateful. Dean had come into his room a few times, but only to bring him water or coffee or a sandwich, and if he hadn't been a demon, Cas would have used the word "adorable" to describe his concern.

He hadn't brought up the hand holding, and neither had Cas. Maybe it wasn't necessary. They had slept together already.

But it seemed to indicate that Dean cared about him to. Cas didn't want to hope, but couldn't help it.

It was impossible and insane to wish for a relationship with Dean, and yet he hoped the demon had feelings for him.

Cas was working in his room, Sam and Bobby in the study, and Dean had gone to get a beer from the kitchen when he got a text.

_Outside._

He supposed it was from Crowley – true, he didn't recognize the number, but that didn't mean much – and called out he'd be a minute before slipping out of the house.

Bela was waiting for him, panting slightly. Dean had more or less got used to the influence of the sigils – it wasn't pleasant, but he could deal with it – and asked, without greeting, "Aren't you in deep cover?"

"I am. And they could notice I'm gone any second."

"Then why – "

She looked at him. Dean saw her true face and was immediately worried. This was the closest to compassion, real compassion, he had ever seen in a demon's expression.

"I know what the last part of the ritual is."

A pause.

"Well then" he said impatiently, "what is it?"

Again that strange look, and then she said quietly, "It's Cas".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Considering we're slowly nearing the end, kudos/comments would mean a lot to me.


	30. Chapter 30

"What?" Dean asked stupified. Cas was a good man, but why did they need him?

The look of compassion hadn't left Bela's face; it seemed out of place on a demon's true face and Dean wondered what his told her. He'd never much thought about his true face and had avoided looking in mirrors; now he wondered if it showed that he was a pure excuse for a demon with all this humanity and feelings and stuff.

"It is the most difficult part of the ritual" Bela explained patiently, even though her true face showed that she felt panic as well as pity, "they weren't sure they could do it."

"But what _is_ it?" he all but screamed before taking a calming breath.

If Aynät wanted Cas, and if she could see everything, she knew where he was. He had to know right this second.

"The soul of a man in love with a demon".

Dean stared at her. "But – you said it was difficult" he forced out. It was an incredibly stupid first thing to say after such a revelation, and he realized he hadn't even refuted the statement that Cas was in love with him. But he couldn't be. He'd had to kill his best friend because of him. That alone should have been enough to quench any feeling. That had never been there in the first place.

"They have to know it's a demon. And how many demons can make someone fall in love with them? Can even fake emotions good enough for someone to fall in love with them?"

Dean had to admit she was right. Most demons had lost too much of their humanity. He couldn't imagine Alastair trying to win the heart of anyone.

"I have to go. Just – be careful". And Bela turned around and left. Dean made his way to the house back as quickly as the sigils allowed and stormed past Sam and Bobby into Cas' room.

The agent looked up when he entered.

Dean immediately demanded, "Tell me that you're not in love with me".

He could feel panic rising in his chest. If Cas was in love with him, Aynät wanted him, and he didn't know if he could protect him.

If Cas wasn't in love with him –

Cas would be safe.

He told himself that that was all that entailed, that he wanted him not to be in love with him. If he wasn't, they didn't have a problem

Only that Cas hadn't answered him yet.

"Dean – "

"Tell me".

He looked down at his book and said quietly, "I am not in love with you".

He breathed a sigh of relief. Because that was all he felt. Relief. Definitely.

"Wait" he said, studying the defeated-looking agent, "Are you saying that because I want you to say it or because it is the truth?"

"It doesn't matter" Cas replied calmly. "You have made more than clear that –"

"It matters, and now tell me!" he shouted.

Cas flinched but a look of determination passed his face before he stood up and took a few steps towards him.

He looked him in the eyes and stated clearly, "I am in love with you, Dean Winchester".

What he felt must have shown on his face because Cas stepped and continued, "I am aware that my feelings make you uncomfortable – "

"That's not it" he quickly said, not realizing what that implied until it was too late, but he couldn't help it now. "We need to talk to Sam and Bobby".

They were waiting in the study.

Once Cas had sat down and all were looking expectantly at him, Dean took a deep breath and began.

"The last part of the ritual – we know what it is".

He could have cut the silence in the room with a knife.

"It is Cas' soul".

"My soul? Why?" the agent asked, frowning confusedly. He didn't look scared, but he would be. Once he processed the information.

"They need the soul of a man who is in love with a demon" Dean answered simply. He looked at Sam and Bobby, waiting for their reaction. The old hunter shook his head and mumbled a curse under his breath, and Sam looked from Dean to Cas and back again, wondering if he say that the agent's feelings were obviously reciprocated, and Dean prayed that he wouldn't drop that bomb. They didn't need that atop of everything else.

So when Sam began, "We need to keep Cas safe" he gave him a thankful look that he was sure his brother would understand.

"Your safe room?" Cas asked Bobby.

The hunter nodded. "It's got enough provisions, even built in a bathroom, and we'll be there. You'll be okay".

"I want to help".

"You can best help by staying safe, boy".

"He's right, Cas" Dean agreed. If the agent stayed in the room, no demon could get to him. Dean wouldn't have to worry, could stay sharp for the task at hand.

He didn't say any of this. But Cas nodded.

Five minutes later, Cas was in the panic room, Dean, Sam and Bobby making sure the house was safe.

Dean was glad that he didn't have to be near Cas.

He knew that the agent was in love with him when before he had only suspected.

Cas wouldn't move away if he touched him, he wouldn't be angry if Dean confessed why he told him it had been a one-time thing, he would be his if the demon asked.

He wouldn't ask. Not now, not ever.

Even if they survived this, and it would be a freaking miracle if they did, Cas would go back to the life he'd lived before. Dean would make sure of it. A safe life – comparatively safe, at least – with no demon around to make things complicated.

He wondered how this could have happened.

He could understand people thinking him attractive. They couldn't see his true face, so to them he was still the same good-looking man who'd gone to Hell.

But falling _in love_ with him. And not just his old human self – and that would have been weird enough, he knew he'd been obnoxious even before his stay in the pit – but with his demon self with the eyes and the rage and the killings without remorse.

He had no idea how this had happened. Then again, he had also no idea how he had – there was no point in denying it, not anymore, even if he winced at the thought – fallen in love with an agent who wore a trench coat and had a stick up his ass.

All in all, they were a good match. They were both idiots. He was an idiot for ever taking Cas with him to his motel room in the first place, and Cas was an idiot for summoning him.

"Dean?"

Sam's voice broke through his thoughts and he realized that he had been staring at the sigil he was supposed to inspect and if necessary strengthen.

"Looks good" he said, hoping he could escape the conversation, but of course he couldn't.

"He's in love with you" Sam said firmly.

"Yes" Dean confirmed.

"And you're in love with him".

Dean didn't answer.

When Sam opened his mouth, he said, "It doesn't matter."

"What do you mean? You've already slept together, and – "

"It doesn't matter because, whatever happens, he's gonna go back to Quantico".

Sam frowned.

"Is that what he wants?"

"It's what he'll do" Dean said carelessly, pretending to check another devil's trap.

"It doesn't work like that".

"It will. He'll see that nothing good can come out of it".

"But there can" Sam argued.

Dean looked at him.

"Do you really want another fight about that?"

Sam stopped talking but made another bitchface at him before leaving.

Dean couldn't imagine what he was thinking. Did Sam really imagine that there would be some happily-ever-after where they conveniently forgot that he was immortal and he and Cas drove around the country ganking monsters and visiting Sam and Sarah now and then?

Alright, he probably shouldn't have put so many details in his little daydream, because now he imagined how well Cas would look in Baby's front seat. And that was not something he should think about ever, because it made him think about Cas in his life, and that wouldn't happen.

At least he was safe, for now. That was the one thing to come out of this situation.

There was a knock on the door. Dean knew who it was before he opened it.

Crowley was leaning against the door frame again, sweating, and Dean would have taken a moment to enjoy it, but something had shifted between them since he'd understood that Crowley had come looking for him.

They had never talked about it, but he wondered if Crowley remembered being human too. He would know, of course, that demons were created out of human souls, but did he really remember who he had been? Did he understand, in a way?

Dean stepped back and Crowley strolled in.

"I hate to say "I told you so" –"

"Which is why you are?"

"Exactly, Squirrel. So, where's FBI lover boy?"

"In a safe room".

"How safe?"

"Walls made of solid iron and salt".

Crowley raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed.

"I'd call that safe".

"So, any idea where Aynät is?"

He shook his head.

"I got my people searching everywhere, believe me. Bela hasn't seen her yet either. She dropped by after she'd informed you your little human is the final ingredient they need to make our lives literally a living Hell".

Dean knew. Crowley knew. So why was he here?

"What are you planning to do?" he asked suspiciously.

Crowley looked at him.

"You think I am here to kill your toyboy? You hurt me. It's too risky anyway. We don't know which direction he's going, and who says they can't get his soul once it's free of his body?"

Dean knew exactly which direction Cas would go, but he wasn't going to contradict Crowley, not when the demon had decided that Cas was to stay unharmed.

"It might even be a good idea to have him here" Crowley continued.

Dean was about to ask what he meant – or rather, take out the knife and tell Crowley to stop beating around the bush – when he realized.

"Aynät's coming here".

"More than likely. She has to be the one to open Hell's gates, or the demons wouldn't follow her, so she has to complete the ritual, say the spell."

Dean nodded.

"Alright. We better get ready. Thank you for warning us and all..." he said sarcastically; he stopped when he saw Crowley advance further into the house.

"What are you – "

"I'm trying to promote myself as the King. What would it look like if I leave before the final battle? And it just so happens that you and your whirlwind romance touched the dark, blackened rest of what others would call a heart" Crowley answered just as sarcastically as Dean had been trying to be. In the next moment, he was in the study, apparently intent on putting up another layer of protection, and Dean walked upstairs where Sam and Bobby were still working on more sigils.

"Was that Crowley?" Sam asked immediately, unconcerned that a demon had made a habit of dropping by.

"Yes." He waited a moment before continuing, "And he's still there. Working on the protections, as a matter of fact".

"The future King of Hell put up protections here" Bobby muttered. "Should put that on a plate somewhere".

"He's staying" Dean added, unsure how they would react.

"But why..." Sam began; he stopped suddenly and his eyes widened. "Aynät. She's coming here".

"She needs to finish the ritual herself".

Bobby sighed. "Old age is overrated anyhow. So, you're gonna tell Cas?"

Dean had almost forgotten about telling Cas, and he would rather not, because he knew what would happen if he did.

Cas was an agent, and he had not backed down from any fight that dean had thrown his way. He wouldn't stay in the safe room and wait for them to win this one. He would insist on helping them.

And Dean knew he wouldn't take no for an answer.

He made his way to the safe room and knocked. He couldn't enter, but he could talk to Cas as soon as he opened the door, which he swiftly did. As he had expected, he had a book in his hand.

"Hello, Dean".

There was no reason for him to greet the demon like that. They had seen each other only a short while before.

It had always been "Hello, Dean"; from the moment they had met, Cas had used it, and Dean hadn't thought about it.

He'd miss it.

"Aynät is coming" he said.

Cas' eyes widened and he stood up.

"What do you need me to do?"

"Stay here".

As he had expected, Cas stubbornly said, "I won't".

"This room is safe – "

"I'm an agent, I can take care of myself".

"Against a powerful demon?"

Cad didn't answer, but Dean knew better than to think he had won.

"I will not stay here while you are fighting for my life" Cas continued.

"It's my fault you're in this mess to begin with. It's my responsibility to get you out of it".

"It's not your fault" Cas said quietly, and now they were dangerously close to discussing feelings which was pretty high on Dean's not-to-do list now, and he wanted to say something, anything, that would make Cas stop talking, but he didn't.

"It's not your fault" Cas repeated.

"Yeah? If I hadn't taken you with me after Billy attacked you – "

"Dean – "

"Or if I had not agreed to work with you – "

"Dean – "

"Or if we – "

Dean stopped because he realized what he was about to say and decided he would rather not.

Cas looked at him.

"It was my choice too" he answered softly. "I summoned you. I worked with you. I fell in love with you".

And there it was, and Dean didn't know what to reply.

Eventually he settled on, "You can't choose who you fall in love with".

"No. But when I felt attraction towards you – I didn't pull back. I kept calling you and working the case with you. That was my choice. And I knew what would happen".

Dean looked at him. Cas' face was completely open, and it should have made him uncomfortable, but it didn't.

"I know you don't feel the same way" Cas added.

Dean didn't mean to reply.

But he did.

"Actually – "

He stopped himself, but it was too late. Because there was no way Cas could interpret that word as anything else but a contradiction to the whole not being in love with him thing.

And Cas' smile was proof that he understood. It wasn't a grin, it wasn't even a particularly wide smile; but it was soft and happy and made Dean feel things he didn't want to feel.

Cas took a step forward and Dean moved back.

The agent frowned.

"Cas, no". He hoped he sounded as firm as he intended. "We can't".

"We can't what?"

"Be" he gestured between them. "This".

"Why not?"

"Because most likely one of us will die" Dean said bluntly "And if it's you, there might just be Hell on earth – which would be our fault as well, fyi. Not exactly the best start".

"And if we don't die?"

There was hope in Cas' voice.

"You go back to Quantico". When he saw Cas' look, he added, "And we don't see each other again".

There was finality in his voice, more than he had thought himself capable of, and he saw Cas' face fall before the agent took a step back and stated, "I still want to help".

"I still want you to stay here."

"You'll have to make me".

"I could knock you out and tie you to the bed."

"Even if you could, which you can't because you can't enter the room" Cas replied simply, "you wouldn't".

And he wouldn't have. Cas wanted to fight, and Dean couldn't deny him – maybe because he had often enough known that a situation was hopeless and had yet run in, like the agent was about to do.

"One condition" he said. "Don't play the hero. Try to stay alive and free. Remember, they need you".

Cas nodded.

Neither Bobby nor Sam seemed surprised to see Cas at Dean's side.

Crowley had just finished with the kitchen when they entered.

"So I take it he didn't agree with the keeping out of trouble plan?" he asked Dean. No one answered him.

"Have we any information on Aynät? Do we know the knife will hurt her?" Bobby asked.

"It worked on Lilith, who was the first demon" Crowley answered. "It should work on her too".

"I guess "should" is the best we're gonna get".

"Correct, my friend".

Bobby sighed. "Alright then. Boy, keep that knife out".

Dean had taken it out of his pocket as soon as they had left the safe room and he certainly wouldn't put it away. Sam and Bobby had collected all weapons the house had to offer, which was an impressive amount. Sometimes it was good thing that Bobby was a hoarder.

Even Crowley accepted a shotgun, to Dean's surprise. He had never seen the demon yield a weapon. But considering they didn't know what they were up against, it was probably a wise decision.

Cas sat down on the sofa.

Silence reigned between them. Not even Crowley made sarcastic comments. Wonders would never cease.

And then they heard it.

Shouting. Something that sounded like thunder, even though there wasn't a cloud in the sky.

"That would be my troop, then" Crowley said. "Had them stand guard outside so we wouldn't be surprised."

"And you didn't mention that?"

"I told you now".

At least they were warned. Dean had to admit that. He instinctively wanted to take Cas and drag him into the safe room, but the agent wouldn't allow it.

It took a long time for them to reach the house. Dean realized Crowley must have strengthened the sigils in the yard too.

Then the door was broken down and a cry of indignation told them that one of the demons had stumbled in the first devil's trap. Of course he was freed immediately by the others, but they had realized they had to move slower, and that gave them the advantage, because Bobby, Sam and Cas were immune to the traps anyway, Dean had spent a lot of time at the house and Crowley had made himself thoroughly acquainted with every single room.

The first demon stepped over the threshold of the room. There were wounds on his forehead and arms, so Crowley's guys had put up a good fight, perhaps even got a few of them. Dean fired.

The demon stumbled back, his chest open and bleeding, but didn't attack. He wasn't one of the more powerful ones, then.

He exchanged a look with Crowley. They were thinking the same.

This was only the advance guard.

The next demon appeared behind him – even though he'd thought he'd set the traps up in a way that ensured they couldn't teleport into the room without getting stuck – and he used the knife on him.

They were coming in one at a time, and whoever was nearest took care of the demon. But they always left after they had got shot or got killed by the knife, and Dean began to understand that they were supposed to tire them out. Their ammunition wouldn't last forever either.

And Aynät would know exactly when that was.

They had to get Cas out of here, Dean thought of the safe room – but then what? He couldn't stay in there forever. And even if by some miracle they managed to escape, there could always be another human in love with a demon out there. They had proven that it wasn't impossible.

Cas had kicked another demon into a trap and Dean quickly stabbed him. The agent was sweating, as were Sam and Bobby. Dean and Crowley weren't tired yet, but a continuous attack would drain their power eventually as well.

Time for another plan.

"We have to move".

"Where?" Bobby asked.

"The yard".

"But you'll be slow" Sam interjected.

"So will they" Dean answered. They couldn't say anything against that.

They moved quickly, Crowley being the last after having shoved Dean in front of him.

"Don't you wanna buy me a drink first?"

"Later, Squirrel. Run".

Running was difficult. He impatiently waved at the others to spread as he was hit by the sigils. Crowley had strengthened them alright. He didn't feel as weak as he had in Aynät's storm, but it was pretty damn close.

Crowley shook his head.

"I do hope you appreciate what I do for you" he mumbled sarcastically.

"You do it to become King" Dean pointed out.

"That's just details".

Without another word, they separated and hid between the cars.

Hiding together would have drawn attention to their hiding place, and the demons could tell where Crowley and Dean were. If Cas was clever – and he was – then he could hold his own until it was over. And since they had forced them into action, into splitting up and searching for them, Dean was hoping that it would be over soon.

Just as he thought that, powers slammed into him and he flew over several cars before crashing on another. He managed to hold on to the knife, but only just.

 _Damn it._ This one had to be very powerful not to feel drained.

He jumped up and faced the demon that had attacked him.

His meatsuit looked a little like Balthazar, and that made Dean irrationally angry. Still, charging at the demon without taking his powers into account was probably stupid.

He didn't say anything, just threw him against another car, but again he managed to hold on to the knife.

And he figured he might as well try something.

He could move objects. Maybe he could use the knife.

Alastair had made it impossible for him to move or use his powers, but this demon hadn't. Maybe he wasn't strong enough. Maybe the sigils were draining him after all and it had only taken longer.

They were draining Dean too, but he had something to fight for. Someone. Dean raised his hand and the knife, guided by his powers, imbedded himself in the demon's chest.

"Why didn't I think of that sooner?" he mumbled as he pulled it out. He tried to find out how many demons were around, but they were moving and he had no idea if they were all Aynät's or if some of them were Crowley's, and it confused him, so he stopped. He needed to stay sharp.

He felt another demon move towards him.

At the same time, he felt the power of the sigils lifted. Not good.

Sam had run in the same direction as Cas. He knew Dean wouldn't want to leave the agent completely alone. He thought he was about two rows of cars in front of him, but couldn't be sure.

The demons still escaped after their meatsuits had become too damaged, and he had the suspicions that they got new ones.

All part of the plan to leave them tired and weaponless.

He heard steps behind him and turned around in time to shoot the demon advancing.

Cas had found a spot at the end of the yard; he could defend himself and no one could come at him from behind.

It wasn't ideal, but it would have to do.

He would have liked to be with Dean, but the demon had made it clear that he wanted him safe, and this was safe, comparatively speaking.

He had fought against a few demons, but it hadn't been too difficult to shoot them before they came near him.

And then he felt it.

It wasn't like when Dean or any other demon had made him immovable; it was as if he didn't want to move.

He tried to fight against the lethargy that had come over him.

"Don't worry" said a voice next to him. "Nothing is going to happen to you – right now".

Everything went black.

Suddenly the demons were gone. Even the one Dean was fighting vanished. Something was wrong.

He ran back to the house as quickly as he could and met the others in front.

All except Cas.

He didn't have to look at them to know.

Cas was gone.


	31. Chapter 31

He awoke slowly, by degrees; when he was awake enough, he wondered why demons insisted on knocking him out when they could simply kidnap him by teleportation.

Again, he was remarkably calm. Maybe it was his hope that Dean would come, like he had again and again, or Balthazar's loss, but he found that he didn't care what happened to him.

Until he realized that this wasn't normal, wasn't the controlled calm he had sustained in Lawrence, but still the lethargy he had felt at the Salvage Yard, and he fought against it.

He wasn't sure if it was to be taken as a victory when panic set in, but it might as well have been. At least he was feeling something.

And he knew that he had to fight, had to try to get out. His soul was the last ingredient. He didn't know if he could prevent them from taking it, but he would try. They had fought too fiercely, lost too much to give up now.

He hoped the others had made it out. Maybe the demons had let them alone after they'd captured him. And even if not – Dean had the knife. Dean could fight.

He had to believe they were alright.

"You are awake" someone said, and Cas recognized the voice that had spoken to him at the Yard.

The lights were turned on and he saw for the first time the room he was kept in. It was a completely ordinary office, a large one where meetings would be held; Cas was sitting on a couch in a corner. At the end of a long table a woman was standing.

And Cas understood how she had been able to hide for so long, to become a legend.

She had chosen everything – the woman she had possessed, the office –carefully.

She looked completely ordinary. Not in the way other demons did when they possessed someone – they still looked like something, after all, like the person they had taken.

But Aynät – she was not only ordinary, but almost impossible to focus on. She seemed to fuse with the background. Cas found it difficult to look at her.

"Someone who sees everything can't afford being seen himself" she explained, walking towards him.

"I'm Aynät, but you know that".

He nodded, trying to tell what colour her eyes were. Everything about her seemed so gray.

"Your friends are safe" she continued. "I saw no reason to kill them. Not now, at least. I will deal with Crowley personally, and everything else will be easy once I open the gates of Hell. Dean, of course, has a price to pay".

At the threat towards Dean, Cas moved to the farther end of the sofa instinctively. She was calm and even polite, and it scared him more than sheer brutality would have done.

She obviously waited for an answer. He didn't feel inclined to talk, but if he did, maybe he could win some time.

Thinking of something to say was difficult. Something that wouldn't provoke her; something that would keep her interest. He found it, though, just like had always found the right thing to say in tense situations.

"You see everything" he began, endeavouring to remember what Dean had let fall about Hell, "so you must have known Crowley was planning on killing Lilith. If you want Hell on earth – why not let the Apocalypse take its course? Lilith was the final seal. Without her, nothing can happen".

She looked at him.

"I knew you were well-informed, but I didn't take you as such an intelligent man. A question such as this deserves an honest answer: My sister and I differed greatly in our opinions what was best for us".

 _My sister and I._ From the topic of their conversation and a certain tone in her voice, Cas could only assume that she meant Lilith. Hadn't he heard that Lilith had been the first demon created? Maybe Aynät had been created right afterwards?

"Letting demons run wild on earth sounds very much like the Apocalypse to me" he said slowly.

She waved a hand in the air.

"Of course most believe that what it would be like. But that isn't true. I see everything; a few millennia in my existence, I happened to attract the notice of a superstitious people, and they took me into their pantheon. Of course I was still a demon, but I got some god-like qualities on the way. Until then, I had been content to work alongside my sister; wait for the day Lucifer would rise, in the belief that it would bring us everything we desired – to be free of the constraints of Hell, no exorcism to pull us back, no humans to fight us for earth. But then, for the first time, now a Goddess, I dared to look into the cage, and I saw Lucifer.

And I knew.

Lucifer never intended to help us, to help his own children. He wanted to get out of Hell, and to destroy us and men alike. He considered both abortions, not worthy of walking the earth. I tried to warn Lilith. But she didn't believe me. So we went our separate ways. And I spent all this time waiting, my existence slowly getting obscured by legends, always watching, until the day came when I could free those who would prove worthy and take what was ours".

"Why are you telling me all this?" Cas asked.

"Sometimes, seeing everything is exhausting. It is good to share the burden for a little while. And you will bring glory on this planet – you deserve the whole story."

He didn't reply.

"I know when the ritual was written" she continued, "I saw the intent of the man who did long before he took up the pen; and I looked over his shoulder as he wrote it down. And I knew what it was. I knew what it could do. All I had to do was find the right moment.

Of course, there was still Lilith. I still had to fear that she would be so foolish as to break Lucifer out of his cage.

When Dean Winchester went to Hell – I thought I had lost. I can see everything that's happening in this very moment. I can recall everything that has happened in the past. But I can't predict what will happen. There are too many possibilities. That Dean broke too quickly was luck".

Unexpected anger flared in Cas' chest. He had already heard from Dean's own mouth that he had broken too quickly, but he wouldn't believe it. He couldn't imagine what they had done to him in Hell. Whatever had happened wasn't Dean's fault.

She seemed to read his thoughts.

"You don't have to think I share the other demons' opinion that Dean Winchester is weak" she said softly. "Everyone breaks in Hell. And he held on to what he had been".

Cas looked into her strangely non-descriptive eyes. If she had been one of the first demons, she had to know where they came from. She had to know what she had been.

He wondered if, perhaps, she had come to the conclusion that Lucifer had corrupted, had ruined them instead of making them better during the long years where she had been waiting.

"But he killed my sister. And he will be punished" she added, almost as an afterthought, "and your death will be the first punishment he'll receive".

Cas had not doubted that she had the intention to kill him, but he could have done without the confirmation. His heart beat faster.

"Can I ask a question?" he inquired, hoping to stall yet a little bit more time.

"Of course" she replied friendly.

"Why did you wait? Alastair was possessing Balthazar for days. He could have kidnapped me sooner". And one of her best men wouldn't be dead.

"But I needed you to love him. And falling in love – it takes time. Sometimes very little, but still – I had to be sure. And Alastair was doing everything to ensure you would fall in love".

"How?" Cas didn't understand. Balthazar – what he had then thought had been Balthazar – had interrupted their almost kiss and had wanted Cas to be careful. He hadn't pushed him towards Dean.

"Sometimes opposition can be the best way to make something happen. I figured you were the type to fall in love against the odds. Add a kidnapping to the mix... Of course you were never in real danger, but him saving you just made your feelings grow stronger." She paused. "It was fate you met Dean Winchester. Until I saw your meeting, and knew the potential. You were attracted to him from the start".

It was true. Dean was good-looking, and something had drawn Cas to him from the very first moment, although he hadn't admitted it to himself then. Maybe he even had simply given in to the subconscious wish of seeing him again when he had summoned Dean.

"I thought so. And the spell requires that the person _knows_ they're in love with a demon – as you can imagine, that was the difficult part. Because even if I sent a demon out there and they manage to make a human fall in love with them – what then? They love a person that doesn't really exist, and that won't work. It has to be genuine love for a demon. And you – you know he tortured in Hell, you have seen how angry he gets, you killed your best friend for him, and you still love him". She smiled.

"You're perfect".

"Thank you" Cas said sarcastically before he could stop himself. Now was not the time to enrage the demon before him, but the panic was threatening to overwhelm him.

She saw everything. Did she see Dean and the others now, did she know they wouldn't come in time and that was why she was talking to Cas? Or was she lying and they were already...

He stopped that thought. He couldn't think like that, couldn't worry about that. He had to get out. He had to save his soul. He had to save the world.

* * *

Dean was pacing up and down, trying to quell the rage and panic that threatened to take over his thoughts. Crowley had left, attempting to track down any informant that might have known where Aynät was holed up.

Bobby and Sam were drawn between research and calming Dean down, and eventually the older hunter left this task to the younger Winchester.

"Dean".

His brother didn't appear to hear him. He was still clutching the knife.

This was bad. He had to bring him back from the edge, or God knew what could happen.

"Dean". Again no response.

Sam grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him around to face him. He didn't even flinch at the black eyes.

"Cas needs you" he said slowly.

This seemed to get through to Dean, who nodded slowly and took a deep breath. The black left his eyes slowly.

"God damn it, Sammy" he said, "I should have protected him".

"You tried".

"But it wasn't enough. It's never enough!" His voice was getting louder again and Sam hugged him on impulse.

"What did I tell you about chick-flick moments?" Dean mumbled against his shoulder, and Sam pulled back.

"You needed it" he said simply. "And now we need you to focus. Aynät hasn't done anything yet. This isn't Hell on earth yet. We can still stop it. We can still save Cas".

Dean nodded and they went to join Bobby.

He was brooding over the text.

"Maybe I missed something" he mumbled. "I mean, alright, so that is the part where it has to say "the soul of a man in love with a demon", but maybe there's something about a location – "

"I doubt it" Dean said. "There was no location mentioned in the other parts".

"Aynät has a hiding place" a voice said behind them and they turned around, guns ready, to find Bela. Of course. Now that the protection was broken, she could just teleport into the house.

"Bela" he said as an explanation, letting his gun drop.

"I only now found out" she said quickly, and Dean didn't have to ask how. There was blood on the hands of her meatsuit.

Sam and Bobby noticed it too, but stayed silent.

"I found one of her entourage who knew" she continued, and Dean thought that whoever had found it had probably underestimated her. Bela wasn't a strong demon, but she still possessed the cunning and dare that had made her dangerous as a human. She had probably had him trapped before he understood what was happening.

"Where?"

"Philadelphia. Hamilton Street 22".

"Thanks". He looked at her. "You should probably find a hole to disappear into".

She wouldn't stand a chance against Aynät, and she knew it.

"She sees everything. She knows I betrayed her before. I think she simply doesn't care, that's why I'm still alive."

"Just try and stay safe, alright?" he mumbled, taking his phone out to call Crowley this instant.

She nodded. Right before she disappeared, she said softly, "Dean?"

"Yeah?" he asked absent-mindedly, looking up.

Her true face, as that of her meatsuit, bore such a serious expression that he couldn't help but pay attention to her.

"Thank you" she said honestly and vanished, and he knew she meant for cutting her down in Hell, but if she had just helped him save Cas, she had repaid that debt a thousand times over.

Crowley appeared next to him, his phone ringing.

"Where?"

Dean told him.

"I should have known she would come to you. Can't resist your pretty boy looks, I suppose".

Before Dean could answer, they stood in front of an office building.

He was surprised. It looked completely non-descript. He wouldn't have paid attention to it at all if he hadn't known who was inside.

That was the point, he realized. You didn't manage to pass for a legend if people paid attention.

"So what now?" Bobby asked.

"She knows" Dean said simply. "We might as well get in".

"Alright then" Crowley stated, "Time for a meeting with the competition".

And he strolled forwards before the others could move.

"Crowley?" Dean asked as they entered the building – it was apparently empty – and the demon shook his head.

"Can't feel a thing. She must be able to conceal demonic presences from others. We didn't know Alastair was in your friend, either".

They had to tread carefully; there could be traps anywhere, not to mention demons; but Dean had to fight to stay calm with every step. If she knew – if she saw – she could kill Cas at any moment –

* * *

"They're close" Aynät informed Cas. "I assumed Bela Talbot wouldn't find out where I was. I have to admit I am impressed. I didn't think she'd have the courage to do it".

"Then why are you still talking to me?" Cas asked. It didn't make sense. She could have killed him minutes ago. Why had she allowed the others to get close?

"They are going slow. They think I might have set up traps. But why? I know where they are. It's as good they are here, though. I can take care of Crowley. And Dean, of course – that will be pleasure. The other two – might as well let them live in the new world." She moved away to the table, were several things Cas couldn't make out where lying. He assumed they were ingredients for the spell.

"Your soul will serve a great purpose".

Cas swallowed and came back to his question.

"You enjoyed talking to me, didn't you?"

"I haven't talked to anyone in a long time".

The only reason he was still alive then was because Aynät was – lonely, then? Or maybe not exactly lonely, but she had spent a long time without talking to anyone – if she hadn't given orders. And she was sure she would win. She was conceited, she didn't fear anyone –

Flaws, Cas realized. The answer was flaws – human flaws. Billy had thought he knew Dean; others had underestimated Cas; Alastair hadn't thought him capable of sacrificing his friend to save others.

Demons had once been human. They still possessed human traits. Even someone like Alastair had still been proud, too proud.

If he could –

"You must have known Crowley planned to kill your sister" he started. "You didn't do anything to prevent it".

She had mixed certain herbs together, as far as he could tell, and was now chanting what sounded like Latin under her breath.

Human flaws, he reminded himself. If he could get her attention to slip –

"And now you want to kill Dean. But he only did what he had to do to get out of Hell. You, on the other hand, simply had to visit your sister. But being hidden was more important to you. You're responsible for her death, just like he is".

She didn't stop working on the spell, and Cas could see no difference in her demeanour, but he had to try. They were close.

"Maybe you wanted her to die all along. So that you were free to follow your plan and become the new leader of Hell".

Her hand trembled slightly, he thought. He couldn't be sure; it was still difficult to look at her.

"You were more than ready to let your sister die".

She had finished the invocation and was heating the mixture over a small fire she had ignited in the middle of the table.

"You were more than ready to sacrifice your friend" she said simply, continuing to work on the spell, but she had answered.

This was her weakness. She had so long not talked to anyone that she couldn't help but listen.

"He would have killed someone I love" he replied. He knew now that Dean was supposed to get killed by Aynät, but he hadn't known then, and he had done the only thing he could think of that would save Dean and the others. He had reacted as he was trained to do, to save as many people as possible.

Aynät, for all her protestations that she had to punish Dean, couldn't have cared much for her sister. But Cas knew demons were capable of strong emotions – Dean's almost confession had been enough to prove it and still made him feel joyful, despite the situation he found himself in – and maybe she was ashamed that she hadn't done anything. As the first demons, they would have spent a lot of time together. Once, they must have trusted each other.

Aynät had done nothing to save Lilith, and maybe she didn't regret it, but she felt that she should.

"I forgot" he added, "You cannot see the future. So I assume you told yourself he might not succeed in killing her. But still – you could have warned her". She might be working slower now, or he might deceive himself. He wouldn't be the first to be led astray by hope.

"You were the first of your kind, and you think you are better than humans. How is betrayal better?"

She was definitely working slower.

"And who says the Apocalypse would have been bad for you? Did you see that Lucifer planned to kill you, or did you _interpret_ it that way?" Cas had often had the same talk with witnesses. Many didn't tell what they had seen, but rather how they had seen it. Aynät claimed omniscience, but she couldn't see the future, and even though she might be right about Lucifer, it was possible that she didn't have proof.

"How much do you know, anyway? You said yourself you were still a demon. It doesn't sound very god-like to me".

Her hands stilled.

"Maybe Lilith should have got the powers instead of you" Cas continued, "she would have done more with them. She would have started the Apocalypse millennia ago..."

He was talking faster now, because Aynät had obviously decided that she had enough. The lethargy he had felt in the yard was stealing over him again, and it was so much _worse_ than being able to think while not being able to move; because it made him want not to think, for everything to be over, and he couldn't allow that.

He struggled against it, but wouldn't have succeeded if she hadn't lifted it after starting to work again.

"You're strong" she commented. "Not that it matters, but you are strong".

"Have you realized that I was right?"

He shouldn't have said that, but desperation made him reckless. Aynät had said the others were close. Where were they?

* * *

"Do we really have to go so slow?" Dean ground out through his teeth.

"We're going as fast as we can" Sam answered. "We won't help him if you get stuck or we get attacked".

He knew it to be true, but that didn't help. They didn't even know if Aynät was really here. She could have taken Cas somewhere else. And the building was big.

* * *

"You couldn't be more wrong" she said, and he detected a tremble in her voice.

He had to continue. He could only hope that she wouldn't use her powers on him again.

"Then why didn't you want me to talk?"

"I have to concentrate. It is not easy to open Hell."

"Why then let me talk in the first place?" He figured that reminding that she had wanted to talk to him would make her reluctant to make him quiet.

She didn't answer. If he concentrated, he could make out the objects on the table, the ingredients of the spell; some of them looked like human bones, others he couldn't identify. It was probably better that he didn't know.

They were on the third floor now, and Dean's body was drumming with energy. He was clutching the knife and reminding himself every moment that he couldn't just run and throw open doors until he found Cas. Crowley was silent; Dean knew that he was trying to find Aynät. She was a demon after all, and maybe she let her power slip now and then. They didn't understand the whole ritual, but it certainly required a lot of concentration. If Aynät was working on it and forgot to keep herself hidden...

But every time he glanced at the other demon, Crowley's expression told him that he was unsuccessful.

He supposed Aynät had got very good at hiding over the years.

But Cas was still alive. He could feel it. Hell hadn't been opened yet. His agent was still alive, fighting. He wouldn't just give up. The fate of the world was at stake.

He clung to this. Cas wouldn't give up.

"It's not going to be long now" she informed Cas, looking at the ingredients over the fire. "They had to achieve a certain temperature". Almost as an afterthought, she added, "The last ingredient is your soul".

She inclined her head towards the right; her gaze grew unfocused as she seemed to concentrate on something.

"It is going to take a while. I think I should slow them down a little" she said gently.

Cas' heart beat faster again. He could remember how Dean had looked in Lawrence. He had been exhausted, almost unable to fight, even though he'd insisted he was fine.

* * *

They were on the fourth floor when suddenly the same spell that had hung over Lawrence hit Crowley and Dean and they both reeled back. Dean grew dizzy and he fell on his knees, hearing Crowley gasping beside him.

"Dean?" Sam and Bobby helped him up, Crowley grumbling something along the line of "I appreciate your offer of assistance".

"I'm okay" he breathed, "we have to move".

"Are you sure? You could – "

"No chance in Hell, Sammy".

And they moved.

* * *

She turned to Cas and smiled.

"It's time".

He felt the lethargy – no, no, not lethargy.

With every step she took toward him, he was being _drained_.

He found it difficult to care what was going on. He could feel himself slipping away. His life. His work. His friends.

Somehow, Aynät was draining his soul from his body without touching him, without saying a word. Somewhat disinterestedly, he watched the white light pour out of him.

He had to hold on.

But it was difficult, too difficult.

But then a thought, a face pierced through the darkness that was beginning to steal over his mind, and he clung to it.

 _Dean_.


	32. Chapter 32

It was more difficult to fight the spell when it was used specifically on him and not just to keep a town under control, and it hadn't been exactly easy then, but Dean drudged on.

He was going to get to Cas. He had to focus, and he could use none of his powers.

And the spell grew weaker. Aynät was concentrating on something else. Dean realized what that something else was and fought even harder. All in all, their progress wasn't much hindered, Crowley being too stubborn to let himself be held back as well.

They arrived on the fifth floor and somehow Dean knew this was it. Cas was here. He didn't know how he knew.

He looked over the corridor. Several doors. Too many. But –

"Sammy, she's been hiding all these years, hasn't she."

"Yes".

"Try the one on the end of the corridor" Crowley said, "It looks the most boring".

Dean had thought the same and was at the door with a few quick steps. Crowley grabbed his arm before Sam could.

"You can't just rush in, Squirrel" he hissed.

"Why? Can you teleport?"

Crowley frowned.

"Thought so". Dean took a deep breath.

"Alright, I'm going in first". He looked into his brother's face. "I said I'm going in first. I have the knife. You try and shoot her. If she –" he stopped but the figured there was no easy way to say this and if there was, he didn't have the time to find it "if she kills me, get out of there. All of you".

"Dean –"

"Sam, you'll have more than enough to do protecting Cas if we can save him. If I can keep her occupied while you get him out, you do so". He turned to Crowley. "Just get them out".

The other demon nodded. Sam looked like he wanted to object.

"Sam". There was much unsaid in this one word. Fights, sacrifices, pleas.

He turned to Bobby.

"Just take care of him, would ya, old man?"

"Don't count yourself out yet, boy" he answered, "I'll be pissed if we have to leave you behind".

Dean smiled and looked at Crowley once again. If he succeeded, if only for a moment, to break Aynät's powers so that he could teleport, he had to take Cas and the others and leave. They had to get Cas as far away from her as possible.

He didn't say any of this out loud, but Crowley understood.

The demon gave him another almost imperceptible nod and Dean had never seen his true face look so earnest.

"Alright then" he said and got ready to open the door.

* * *

It was a strange feeling to have one's soul sucked out of one's body. It was almost beautiful to watch; a bright white light that was slowly making his way from his chest to Aynät.

He would have been interested if he hadn't been so sure that he had to prevent it for... some reason.

It was actually quite a peaceful feeling, being drained. Slowly slipping away. He wondered if that was what his father had decided to do, if he had simply had enough and thought it would be easier to let the world go. He could understand that. Or had his father done that? It was difficult to remember. He thought it had something to do with his brother leaving – had he even had a brother? He believed so. What was his name again? Something with – something with – but he wasn't even sure he had one. Maybe he'd died. No; he was sure that wasn't the case.

Maybe he should concentrate on something else. Where did he work again? He had to work somewhere. But where? Who were his colleagues? Did he like them?

A face flashed before his mind for an instant. A man. Was he a colleague? It was possible.

He studied the woman in front of him. He could have sworn he had known her name before, but he couldn't recall it. It was difficult to look at her.

Perhaps he should – wait. What was his name? He was confused because he was certain he was supposed to know. He had to have a name. Everyone had a name.

What was he thinking about again? It was annoying to have to think. Being drained really wasn't as bad as it sounded: he could just let it happen.

_No._

He startled awake after the gentle drain had put him into a half-slumber. There'd been a voice inside his head, had cried out to him, and he didn't understand. Why would someone call out to him?

But then the voice had a face.

A man stood in front of his mind's eye, a beautiful man. Green eyes looked earnestly at him.

 _No,_ the man repeated and he knew he had to fight.

Even though he had forgotten every name he had ever known, this one came to him without having to think about it.

 _Dean._ The man's name was Dean.

And Dean told him not to give up. So he wouldn't. He didn't really know why he wasn't supposed to give up, but if Dean told him not to, he wouldn't. Dean was right.

He could feel the drain tugging at Dean now, trying to take him away, and he held on.

Held on to the picture in his mind. He couldn't even say if Dean was a real person or not, but he hoped to God he was.

The tugging grew stronger, and he held on with all he had. He didn't want to lose the beautiful man. He had to keep him. He had to.

It wasn't hurting him to hold on, but he was more and more exhausted the longer he fought. Giving in would be easy. But then Dean would disappear just like everything else, and he couldn't allow that.

The light had dwindled now; whatever had passed away from him, whatever the woman had taken, there wasn't much left.

"I underestimated the strength of your emotions" the woman said. "I planned on having finished the spell by now. I suppose it can't be helped."

She called out "Come in!"

* * *

Dean should have expected it. She knew they were here.

He looked at them.

"Might as well go in" he said. "Hiding won't do any good".

And he opened the door.

What he saw made him almost attack Aynät on the spot.

Cas sitting on a sofa, but it wasn't Cas, not completely. Not anymore.

There was something missing in his eyes.

The spark he had often seen was still there, but subdued, fading. His face looked completely passive. A small trickle of white light was moving to the bowl Aynät held in her hand.

Aynät was taking his soul.

"Hello, Dean" she said softly, and to hear the words out of her mouth made him want to scream.

"What have you done to him?" he demanded.

"What was necessary. I'm not finished yet". She looked behind Dean, obviously more interested in the other demon in the room.

"Crowley."

"Aynät. A pleasure".

"It was a pleasure watching you" she replied. "If anyone could take over the post as King of Hell, if I wasn't going to open the gates, I'd choose you. You were clever". She looked at Dean again. "You chose a good partner. Then again..." Her eyes moved from Dean to Cas, who was still staring straight ahead.

"Maybe it wasn't the best decision, all things considered."

"What or who he does in his spare time is none of my business, sweetheart" Crowley pointed out. "Plus, it's hard to find good help these days".

"I know. You killed my best man".

"Technically that would have been that almost-empty shell over there" Crowley pointed out, and Dean was tempted to turn around and use the knife on him.

"I think draining him is enough punishment, since he doesn't see, or wouldn't see if he could still form an opinion, that it's an honour" Lilith answered, "your punishment will be worse".

"I didn't kill Alastair" Crowley said innocently, and Dean understood finally. He was trying to distract Aynät. Maybe a hopeless endeavour, but there was still something left in Cas. She hadn't taken everything from him yet.

It wasn't the best plan to simply attack her and hope for the best, but she was bickering with Crowley, so maybe she didn't pay attention.

Of course she did, and Dean found himself thrown against a wall once more, right next to Cas, who didn't even seem to notice.

The knife lay next to him and he managed to grab it before she could, but only because Sam shot a round of salt into her.

Dean jumped up and saw Bobby and Sam flung out of the room. The old hunter got another shot out before the powers hit him.

He didn't doubt that they'd be nailed to the floor.

And, as he looked into Aynät's smiling face, he didn't doubt what she would do to them.

"You killed my sister" she said pleasantly. "I think it is fair that I kill your brother".

Dean glanced at Crowley, but he was standing completely still, although he could see the indignation in his true face at the fact. He would have cherished it if he had the time.

"I'll make an example of him, don't worry. It has to be known what I will do to those who fight against me".

Dean looked at Cas. Was he really still there, or was Dean just hoping he was? Were they too late?

"It's not just your brother and the man who became your father. You have to suffer. You killed Lilith, after all". She waved her hand. "Go to him. You might get to speak to him one last time. I'm not sure how far gone he is".

But that wasn't the reason, or at least not her only reason. Dean wasn't stupid. Aynät had done nothing that didn't serve her goal – Hell, even Alastair possessing Balthazar, knocking at doors in the right moment, having them kidnapped, had simply been a ploy to get them together, to make them fall in love – and in this case...

It was exactly love she was after.

She needed the soul of a man in love with a demon. Maybe, the more profound the love, the easier the spell. If he got through to Cas now – Cas, who was almost gone – wouldn't the agent feel stronger for him?

And yes, it would hurt Dean. How could it not. Cas had practically raised him from perdition, had given him back his humanity when he had been going down a dark and inevitable, at least he had thought so then, path; but it didn't have to hurt Cas. He was barely conscious. Aynät had won; why not make this easy for at least one man?

The answer was simple. Cas' soul.

If there was a chance, a small chance, that he could get to Cas, that they could do something – and he didn't really know what, but did that mean there was nothing? – the agent's soul wouldn't be used in the spell.

Of course this would mean the world was safe, but that wasn't what was important. If he could get Cas and Sam and Bobby and – he admitted reluctantly – even Crowley out, he would gladly see the world go to Hell.

But this was about Cas' soul.

His soul would be used up. It would be gone.

And Cas should go to Heaven. He deserved to. Cas needed his soul, and Dean had to try and save it.

Aynät smiled at him as if she knew what he was thinking, and for all he knew, she did.

"There's a condition. Give me the knife, and I'll allow you to talk to him".

He thought about the spell she had thrown over Lawrence and used on him and Crowley not long ago. How she didn't even seem concerned. She would rip him apart before he got anywhere near her with that knife.

Cas was still sitting on the sofa, and he didn't even know if he was still alive in the way that mattered, but he handed over the knife.

She took it and waved a hand towards the agent. He absent-mindedly noted that the two shots Sam and Bobby had got into her were still bleeding. Normally they would have stopped by now, and she didn't seem to be in any pain.

He turned to Cas. He walked right in front of him and realized he couldn't see him. He kneeled down and tried to look into Cas' eyes, find something, anything, but he had indeed hoped too much.

There was no light flowing to Aynät anymore.

He was too late.

Cas was gone.

* * *

She had told someone to come in, but had really someone come in? His vision was more or less gone. That didn't mean that he didn't see anything, there was just a veil between him and the world, and he didn't mind it. It made it easier to focus on the beautiful man.

Dean, he reminded himself. He couldn't lose the only name he had got left.

Aynät had simply been toying with him. Every moment now, all Hell would break loose and she would kill Sam and Bobby and Dean and then rush off with Crowley to "make an example of him" and it was all Dean's fault. If he had left Cas alone like he had known he should this would never have happened.

Aynät would never have found another human who'd fallen in love with a demon so quickly; at the very least, it would have taken time, and they could have thwarted her plan.

But that was Dean Winchester. Screwing things up before he was even aware that he was doing it.

The very least he could do was say goodbye.

"Cas –" he said, and he knew Aynät could hear it, could hear how much this was hurting him, and was enjoying every moment of it.

"I'm so sorry" he continued, his voice firmer. He hadn't apologized to anyone this sincerely since he had become a demon, but he figured since he was about to die and the world about to end, it didn't matter.

He had nothing else to say. Cas knew the only other thing he could have said, so why repeat it to an empty shell of the man he had never told?

And then he noticed.

Cas' eyes had shifted. He wasn't gone completely yet. Ayät might have thought he was, but he wasn't.

He was holding on.

"Cas?" he grasped his shoulders.

"Cas? You're holding on, aren't you? You're still fighting. Please..." he broke off before continuing, "I need you".

Suddenly, the outside world came rushing back. Or maybe not rushing, but he could hear something, if only from a distance. There was a voice calling him, the same voice that had him holding on. Dean's voice. He tried to shift his eyes to where the voice was coming from, but it was difficult. He thought he could see something, a blur, but he wasn't sure.

Someone grasped him, he could feel that, if only just, and called "Cas?"

And then he knew Dean was here. He moved towards the voice, and realized what Cas meant. It was his name. He had his name back.

He started moving faster, or at least he hoped so. He had to get there. He had to get to Dean.

He heard Aynät's surprised gasp and immediately turned around so he stood in front of Cas.

The light was leaving the bowl, returning to where it belonged.

"You underestimated him" he said simply. She shot him a dark look and closed her eyes, and the light came to a stop.

At first it had been easy to move, to attract pieces of himself from wherever they had gone, but now he was being drained again. And this time, the sensation was even stronger.

But so was Cas' motivation.

Dean was here, and he remembered now. Dean was a demon. Dean had saved his life several times.

Cas loved Dean.

He remembered the others now too, and hoped they were still alive. Aynät was capable of killing them with a wave of her hand, and he knew Dean wouldn't be able to bear it if he lost his brother or adoptive father, would probably even be sad that the demon was gone, and Cas couldn't allow that, so he had to fight.

He remembered Balthazar. He wouldn't let his death be in vain.

Not to mention that it would be his soul to end the world, and he would rather not be responsible for that.

So, despite the pull and the overwhelming wish, undoubtedly brought on by the spell, to let it happen, to let go, he kept pushing and was soon sure that he was making progress; he could understand Dean's words of encouragement now.

* * *

Sam suddenly could move again, and he jumped up to find Bobby doing the same.

They ran back into the room; Dean was holding Cas' shoulders, certainly strong enough to leave bruises, and talking, although Sam couldn't distinguish any coherent words, so quickly did they tumble out of Dean's mouth; a light – Cas' soul, he realized – was spread out between the demon and Cas, enveloping Dean almost in a caress before it entered the agent; now and then, it came to a halt, but it always started moving towards Cas again. Aynät was standing were they had seen her last, her eyes closed, a bead of sweat trailing down her forehead.

Crowley was in much the same condition, although his eyes were open. He was looking at Aynät.

"Squirrel's toy boy is giving her a hard time" he informed them through gritted teeth.

"How long?" Sam asked, wanting to know how much time they had lost while under Aynät's powers, and Crowley shrugged his shoulders impatiently.

"Shut up Moose, I'm busy".

He considered asking with what, but decided against it.

He turned to Bobby.

"Do you see that?" he whispered.

The older hunter nodded.

"She's still bleeding. Normally they don't even bleed."

"Maybe she reacts differently to salt?" Sam suggested, even though it sounded weak even for him.

"Why should she? She doesn't look like she's in pain anyway".

That was true. Aynät was struggling, apparently against Cas, but she didn't even seem to notice the blood running down her dress.

"Got it" Crowley muttered with a self-satisfied smirk, and Sam looked over to find the knife had wandered from Aynät's left hand into Crowley's.

"I couldn't let her know what I was up to" the demon explained.

Sam nodded. A glance at Bobby and another one at Crowley made clear that they only had one plan of action now.

Attack.

* * *

Dean could see Cas coming back – and feel it to. He was standing between Cas and Aynät, but it didn't hinder the soul; on the contrary, a warm feeling continued to envelope him, linger for a moment before moving on.

Cas was winning.

He was almost there now, he could tell. Dean's figure swam into focus. He was still touching his shoulders, and Cas unconsciously leaned into him. When he heard Dean breathe "Thank God", he said the first thing that came to his mind.

Just as the last remains of his soul filtered through, Aynät reeled back. Dean turned around. She looked stricken. The calm serenity in her face had been replaced by confusion, and she was shaking. It had taken a lot out of her to try and perform the spell, and Cas had escaped from her clutches. She wasn't invincible anymore.

Dean saw the others ready to attack and turned to make sure Cas was alright.

"Hello, Dean" he murmured, his eyes finally clear again.

"Hey" he said, "can you stand?"

Cas nodded and he helped him up; the others attacked Aynät. Sam was thrown next to them and Dean kneeled down.

"Sammy?"

"The others" he rasped out, and Cas took care of him as Dean turned around to find Bobby and Crowley circling Aynät. The knife glittered in the demon's hands. He hadn't even noticed that he had managed to get it.

The ritual had taken a lot out of her, and she hadn't counted on Cas putting up a fight. Still, it was possible that she was trying to trick them, and she had just thrown Sam across the room. He was standing without being supported by Cas, so Dean figured he was okay.

"Dean" Crowley said and threw him the shotgun he'd carried. "You won't mind me doing the honours?"

"By no means" Dean replied. It was probably important that Crowley ganked Aynät for some being-King-and-showing-it reason, plus he had more than fulfilled his part of the bargain, so he had no problem with it at all.

He hadn't expected that Crowley would plunge the knife expertly into her heart – no, he had expected that.

He hadn't expected her to pull it out.

They had to work fast.

"Crowley, can you block her?"

"For the moment, but she's growing stronger again" he replied. Dean looked at Sam and Bobby.

"Any ideas?"

"I've never seen a demon who was immune to that thing" Bobby said, and Sam shook his head.

"She said she had godlike qualities" Cas blurted out and they all turned to look at him, except Crowley, who was keeping an eye on Aynät.

"What?"

"A tribe took her for a goddess and worshipped her. She acquired certain qualities in the process".

"The first things a God gets – "

"Immortality" Sam said. "Great".

"Wait" Bobby said. "Yes, she's immortal. But she's still bleeding".

It was true. The wounds from the shot as well from the knife were continuously bleeding, her dress more and more drenched.

Bobby snapped his fingers.

"What if it's her body?"

"What?"

"Dean" he asked calmly, "can you or Crowley see her true face?"

Dean hadn't paid attention to it at all when he had entered – it must have something to do with Aynät's ability to conceal herself, otherwise he would have noticed – and did so now.

There was no true face. Behind her meatsuit, there should have been a mangled, broken visage like his own, but there wasn't.

"Crowley?"

"No" the demon, who was clearly having to work harder to keep Aynät under, answered.

Dean quickly thought over the facts. If the belief of the people had given her godlike qualities and she no longer had a demon face – where did that leave them? Was she a demon? Had she turned into something else?

But Dean knew demonic powers, and what Aynät had used against them certainly were demonic powers. Stronger than any he had ever seen, naturally, but still –

"If this is her true face – " Bobby began.

"She became corporeal!" Sam finished and Dean rolled his eyes at his brother's need to show how nerdy he was.

So she was a demon with a body. Not that Dean found that impossible to imagine, but he was pretty sure that if someone used the knife on him, he'd be gone.

"But if she's immortal and immune to the knife, it makes ganking her a lot more difficult".

It was Cas who broke the short silence.

"Tantalus. Sisyphus". Dean stared blankly at him.

"Locked in Hades for all eternity" Cas explained and Dean immediately called out, "Crowley? Think you can find a bottomless pit to put her in?"

"I am sure I will find several for different parts of her body" he replied calmly.

"Good, then. Let's get you – "

It was then that Aynät managed to move.

She didn't even use her powers. She simply threw the knife with accuracy.

It would have hit Dean right in the chest.

But Cas jumped in front of him.

Dean saw it enter his chest in slow-motion.

He caught Cas as he fell and Bobby and Sam put all the rounds of salt they had left into Aynät. He barely heard her screams. The knife was still in his chest, and Cas grasped it with a hand, trying to pull it out.

"No, Cas, you have to let it in" he begged, pulling his hand away.

"Dean..." he said quietly.

"Don't talk. I'll get you out of here".

There was a lot of blood.

"Cas, you dumb son of a bitch!"

"Couldn't let you die..." he coughed. His eyes closed.

"I swear to God, if you die on me, I'll drag you to Hell myself! Cas! CAS?"


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the last chapter!

He decided that he should have got used to waking up in strange places during the last week as he struggled to open his eyes. This time, though, he knew exactly where he was: the smells and the beeping next to him told him that he was in hospital.

The heart monitor picked up his quicker heartbeat when he remembered. Had they got out? Was Dean okay? What about Aynät?

He opened his eyes. Nobody was in the room with him, and it gave him a pang to think that Balthazar would have been there.

A nurse entered and smiled at him.

"Mr. Novak, I'm glad to see you awake."

"How long – " he rasped.

"A week. You were in the ICU for the first two days".

It had been close then.

He tried to remember, but only disjointed bits came back to him.

_We have to –_

_We can't just –_

_It's minutes –_

_He needs –_

He couldn't even recall who had said what, but he seemed to feel Dean's hands on him.

"What happened?" he asked. Her face fell slightly, although she kept smiling.

"That is for your colleagues to tell. Now wait a moment, I'll fetch a doctor".

Colleagues? Were they here?

He should have expected Henricksen to enter the room alongside the doctor, but he was still disappointed.

"Castiel" his superior greeted him, and he nodded.

Henricksen's face was carefully composed, just like during interrogations, and Cas wondered if they suspected him of being responsible for Balthazar's disappearance.

They didn't talk, apart from Cas answering the doctor's question. He had lost a lot of blood, but the knife had been left in the wound, closing it off, and had thankfully not hit any major arteries; still it had been a dangerous injury, and it was lucky that he had been found so soon afterwards.

At this, Cas perked up. But neither the doctor – who had told him his name, but Cas had been too preoccupied with his thoughts to pay attention – nor Henricksen elaborated on the circumstances under which he had been "found".

He allowed the doctor to check his vital once more, then he was left alone with Henricksen.

"What do you remember?" he asked not unkindly.

Cas took a deep breath. He would have to be careful. He had no idea where the others had left him.

"Not much" he began and, remembering that the demons had knocked him out in Lawrence, "Someone hitting me on the head. Then it all becomes rather fuzzy – I imagine I was given barbiturates". Not that they would find any traces of such in his blood, but there were enough who couldn't be detected after a few hours had passed.

Henricksen nodded. He let his mask slip and Cas saw sympathy on his face. He almost sighed with relief, but recalled that he had a role to play.

"What about Balthazar?" he forced out. "I think he was captured at the same time as me. Is he alright?"

This was the hardest part. He didn't want to lie about his friend.

He didn't want to hide that Balthazar had saved them.

But he had to.

He hoped that he was convincing, and apparently he succeeded, because there was pity in Henricksen's face as he told him, "We haven't found him yet. You were lying in a dead end street when you were found – quite by accident. A passing pedestrian thought he had heard cries for help".

It had been Dean, Cas was sure, who had made certain that he would be found, who had saved his life. And yet all he could think about at this moment was Balthazar, how the world would never know how strong he had been, and he didn't have to hide his sorrow because Henricksen would interpret it differently.

He didn't tell him that they had hoped Cas could give them some clues. They both knew.

Eventually, he cleared his throat and began, "Your memory may come back with time".

Cas nodded, even though he knew he had a life of pretending ahead of him.

"The doctor will be back shortly with your prognosis, but you will be on leave for at least three months, during which you will attend therapy sessions. You are not to return until you are declared fit for service."

Cas nodded again. Considering how he had behaved during the case, he was getting off lightly. With a stab of guilt, eh realized this had most likely to do with Balthazar.

"Castiel – I am sorry about Balthazar".

"Me too" he answered, and he was just as sincere as his superior.

Henricksen stayed long enough to hear that Cas should make a full recovery without lasting damage, and left with good wishes and the insurance that they were doing everything in their power to find Agent Roché.

As soon as he was gone, Cas asked for a telephone. The doctor disapproved, but Cas was insistent, and he dialled the number he had memorized over the last few days.

Dean didn't pick up.

Dean looked at his phone. He didn't recognize the number, which could only mean one thing.

Cas. The last time he had checked on him – well, when he had broken once more into the hospital last night to check his records – he had been expected to wake up any moment now.

Apparently he had and was trying to contact him.

Dean didn't take the call. Cas was out; he had survived a fight against one of the strongest demons Dean had ever seen, and he wouldn't complicate his life even further.

God knew he'd lost enough.

_Cas was dying in his arms. Dean had to take him somewhere they could help him as soon as possible._

" _Crowley?" he called out. "What about that tearing her apart plan? I don't think we have much time to think"._

" _You're right" the demon answered calmly._

_In the next moment, Dean saw hellhounds burst through the door. Bobby and Sam couldn't see them, of course, but they were loud enough to let them know what was going on._

_Dean glanced at Aynät, who was struggling against the hold Crowley had on her, but had to look away when the dogs started tearing her apart._

_He concentrated on Cas instead of the eerie silence behind him. Apart from the hellhounds, not a sound was heard._

_Aynät was silent._

_He couldn't think about that now. He could teleport again, and without a second thought, he brought Cas to Lawrence._

_HHHHddddddd_ _He felt slightly dizzy – he still wasn't used to take someone with him – but at least he had reached his destination – a cul-de-sac not too far from a busy road._

_He would have brought him to a hospital immediately, but he needed Cas to be found in Lawrence to avoid questions. So he called until he heard someone running in their direction and hid._

_Cas was still breathing, but it was laboured and shallow. Dean waited until the ambulance arrived._

He walked into Bobby's study and informed the old hunter and Sam, "Cas is awake".

"Did he call?" Sam asked excitedly. Dean shot him an expressive look, and he frowned. As always, he knew what Dean had done.

"You are making the wrong decision" he said.

"It's the right one for him" he replied courtly. "And that's enough for me".

He went to get a beer and ignored the looks Sam and Bobby shot him.

Cas waited for a few minutes. Dean didn't call back.

It was then that he realized that he hadn't memorized Sam's or Bobby's number and that he didn't even know where his cell phone was – more likely than not, he had lost it. He could have tracked down Bobby's landline easily, but he didn't want to run after Dean when the demon obviously wanted nothing to do with him now that it was over, when he stuck to his plan to let Cas go back to Quantico, was content never to see him again.

Cas tried to convince himself that it was better that way.

He didn't succeed.

Dean downed half of his beer with one gulp. Cas was safe. There was no reason for him to pick up or see the guy ever again. So they had slept together once. So there might be feelings involved. So what?

"What are ya doing to yourself?"

He turned around to find Bobby stare at him disapprovingly.

"You mean the beer before midday? Alcohol can't even affect me anymore – "

He rolled his eyes.

"Not that. I mean Cas?"

"What about him?" he asked as carelessly as possible. "He's good. He's safe".

"And miserable because you won't pick up the phone".

"You don't know that".

The look Bobby gave him was answer enough.

Dean sighed.

"Look – "

"Don't "look" me, boy. I'm tired of your bullshit".

Dena stared at him.

"So you're a demon. You went to Hell – for a damn good reason, I might add. But you're also in love with Cas, he's in love with you. Go to him".

"You think it's that easy?"

"Yes." The answer was so simple that Dean forgot that he'd just raised the bottle to his lips to take another sip, and he let his hand sink.

"I just want you to be happy". Dean wanted to remind him why seeing Cas again was a bad idea, why getting attached was a bad idea in the first place, but Bobby was having none of it.

"If there's anyone who deserves to be selfish and happy for once, it's you". He ignored Dean's sceptical gaze. "Yes, you can't tell what the future will bring. We're hunters – that's life. And no go and get him, idjit".

Dean didn't know why, would probably never know why – maybe Bobby's words had done the trick, or he was always going to go and see Cas and only pretending he wasn't – but he put the beer on the table and vanished.

Bobby went back to the study.

"And?" Sam asked, pretending not to have listened.

"He's visiting Cas" Bobby answered, and they smiled at one another.

Cas had no intention of repeating his mistake of deceiving himself, as he had with his feelings for Dean, and he knew he had to start getting over the demon right away. It had been a crazy time, a crazy case, a crazy crush, and now it was over and he didn't care. Wouldn't care. Eventually.

He wished he could call Balthazar. He'd been his one confidante, his only friend, and he was –

For the first time since it had happened, he allowed himself to grief. He hadn't had time then, finding Aynät more important than anything else. But now and for the next few months he had nothing but time, to grieve Balthazar, regret Dean, and wonder what possessed him to ever work this case after he had found out what was going on.

Dean had teleported to a few streets down from the hospital. He didn't want to freak anyone out by suddenly appearing in the middle of it, and the short walk would help him gather his thoughts.

He couldn't say if he was doing the right thing here. Odds pointed to no. But Bobby was right – might not something good come out of this fucked-up, incomprehensible mess that was his life? And Cas wanted him.

Cas was in love with him.

And he was in love with Cas.

Maybe, as Bobby had said, it was that simple.

Within minutes, he stood in front of the hospital. He had no idea when the visiting hours were, but he didn't care. He'd just stroll in, confident as always, and no one would ask questions. And if someone were to come into Cas' room unexpectedly, he could always disappear.

He'd spent quite a bit of time there in the last week, watching Cas sleep and trying to act like that wasn't creepy at all. In fact, he'd spent most of his time there – when he hadn't been called back to Bobby's for dinner by Sam, who refused to return home until he knew Cas was awake and well, or, as had happened once, by Crowley.

"I have dealt with Aynät" he'd informed him. "She won't trouble us no longer".

Dean hadn't asked what exactly he had done to or where he had placed her; he could imagine.

He hadn't heard from the King of Hell – he figured it was appropriate to use the title now – since then. Neither from Bela. He hoped she'd landed somewhere nice. She had helped them, after all.

He was standing in front of Cas' door and took a deep breath. He could still leave.

Or he could actually be _happy_ for once.

He knocked.

When he heard the agent's voice call out "Come in" he couldn't suppress his smile.

Cas frowned when he heard the knock. He didn't think a doctor or nice would knock and wait for permission, and he didn't expect any visitors. Maybe Henricksen had come back?

Dean walked in.

Cas didn't know what to say; he had thought he'd never see the demon again, but here he was, standing in his room.

Dean didn't seem to be sure what to say either though, so he could take a breath before he began, "Sorry I didn't take your call".

He cleared his throat. "Thought I'd drop by instead".

So that was it, then. Dean wanted to say goodbye in person. He supposed it was more than he had had any right or reason to expect.

"How're you doing?"

"I'll have to stay for a few more days, but I should be able to leave soon" Cas informed him, "make a full recovery. I'll be off duty for a while, though".

Dean nodded.

"Glad to hear it". He went to the window and spent some moment looking outside, fidgeting. Cas wondered if he should be the one to begin the conversation Dean was here for, but the demon started, "It's been a difficult time, man".

Cas snorted. "You can say that".

Dean shot him a smile.

"What about Aynät?"

The smile dropped.

"Crowley put her somewhere she can't climb out of".

"Is he King of Hell now?"

Dean shrugged. "More or less".

Before the silence could grow too long, he continued, determined, "Like I said, it's been crazy, and I understand if you just wanna go back to Quantico and pretend nothing of this ever happened. But – "

Cas looked up from his hands. As soon as Dean had started talking, he'd looked away, deciding it would be better not to look into his eyes as he explained why they shouldn't see each other again, but now he felt hope flare in his chest.

Encouraged by the expression on Cas' face, Dean continued, "But – if you'd have me, there' be no reason to make this a one-time thing. Only if you want, of course. I mean – I enjoyed it. A lot. So..."

He trailed off and Cas held out his right hand.

Dean stared at it, confused.

Cas rolled his eyes.

"It is rather difficult to show you that I want to if you are standing so far away".

Dean beamed – a real, big smile that made Cas' heart beat faster – and made his way to Cas' bed.

Some time later, a nurse did indeed open the door, but closed it again as she saw Dean once more lean in to kiss him. Mr. Novak hadn't received any visitor except his boss until now; she figured she could let them have a few more minutes.

**Four months later**

Cas put on his tie and, as countless times before, tried to do it right, but gave up. It was the first day he was allowed back working on actual cases, if one came up, instead of desk duty, and he might have wished to look his best but resigned himself to the fact that he'd been so rarely seen with e proper-tied tie that it would hardly matter.

Dean had spent the night, but had left after Cas had fallen asleep. That wasn't unusual; the demon came and went as he pleased, his teleporting abilities ensuring that he was there the minute Cas called him. And he spent most of his time with the agent.

Cas smiled as he thought about Dean. They were still hesitant to put a label on their relationship, or to talk about the future. He understood what it meant that he was in love with an immortal being.

But there was still a lot of time before he had to start thinking about it, a lot of time filled with laughter and watching trash tv and drinking beer and enjoying each other's presence – and occasionally hunting, if he had the time.

Sam had returned to his life with Sarah and work at the auction house, but kept his ears out for cases, mostly doing research when Dean needed him to; the demon had once more become the hunter he had been before he had gone to Hell, although it was now "way easier to gank those sons of bitches". He usually either crashed at Bobby's, or, more often, came home to Cas in the evenings, although they didn't call it such.

They hadn't talked about his shirts in Cas' closet or the Impala parked on his street yet.

While Cas had been off duty, he had assisted Dean in a few cases – during the first one, he had introduced him to Baby, and he hadn't needed to be assured that he seemed to fit right in, with Dean's glances at him every few seconds, even if he should have been paying attention to the road – and admitted that he enjoyed it. His whole life, he had lived by the book, controlled by regulations; when he hunted, every single one of those rules was gone and left him feeling completely free for the first time.

Not that Dean had nothing to do with that feeling. He'd even told him that he'd "done good" after each of their cases, and Cas knew him well enough to recognize it as the praise it was.

Their last hunt had taken place over a month ago – since he had been back at the Bureau, he hadn't had the time – he'd not only missed the freedom, but the extra time he could have spent with his boyfriend, much as Dean would have hated the word.

He had been on desk duty since he had returned, and he still had regular counselling sessions. As long as he reminded himself that he couldn't tell the man that he grieved because he knew Balthazar was dead, not because he was missing, he figured he'd be fine.

Henricksen, as all his colleagues, had been very understanding, without knowing that they would never be able to understand at all.

Not that he wanted them to. There were some things he couldn't explain.

He felt someone standing beside him and turned around with a smile. As he had expected, Dean was standing there. They had discussed making Cas' flat demon-proof, but he had refused. He would rather have Dean being able to show up at all hours than having to control a salt line every time he stepped over his thresh hold. Plus, Crowley had Hell under control now, according to the new King himself, and Cas had an anti-possession tattoo.

"Hello, Dean".

As always, the demon tried to pretend he wasn't as glad to hear his usual greeting as he was, and he stepped forward to fix Cas' tie.

"Can't have you look shabby when you meet witnesses".

"I might not get a case for a while" he reminded him.

"Still" Dean winked, "Doesn't hurt to be sure".

Cas kissed him. He couldn't help it when Dean was in a good mood and looked at him like he was the best thing that could have happened to him.

The kiss went on a bit longer than it should have, long enough to make Cas regret that he wasn't still off duty.

Dean pushed him away and cleared his throat.

"We should get going".

He drove Cas to work, if he had the time. As he had thought, he fit wonderfully into Baby. Even that one time Sam had helped them out during a hunt and had kept complaining that he had to sit in the back while throwing him grins through the rear view mirror.

Dean found that he couldn't regret going to Cas four months ago, although he had believed then that he would. The very first functioning relationship in his life, and it was with a FBI agent and after he'd gone to Hell. Go figure.

He all but lived at Cas', to be honest. Sometimes he wondered if he should mention it, but he wasn't about to screw this up by talking about stuff.

He stopped a few streets from the main building, old resentment against the law enforcement still in place, and Cas good-naturedly rolled his eyes and smiled at him before kissing him goodbye and exiting the car.

Dean's smile dropped after Cas left his sight.

Among the stuff they hadn't talked about was a subject that he'd rather ignore altogether, but he knew he couldn't keep doing that forever.

Thing is, he would like to continue living this way the rest of his lives. He saw Sam constantly – their promised visits of "once or twice a week" when they had parted at Sarah's after they had went to see Cas at the hospital together had immediately changed into "once or twice a day".

" _Don't be a stranger, alright?" Sam asked after he had hugged him, standing next to the Impala. They were parked in front of his and Sarah's apartment building._

_Dean snorted. "You don't know me Sammy, do you"._

_As he drove away, he had already been counting down the days until he would see his brother again._

_And if the days turned into the very next during Sam's lunch break, well, his sense of time had become a little screwed in Hell._

They even hunted together now and then, although Sam was mostly the go-to guy for other hunters, like Bobby. He also saw a lot of the old hunter. He spent most of his time with Cas.

Yeah, he could definitely seeing the rest of his life going like this.

But it wouldn't. Because one day, it would end, and they would be gone.

He wondered if he kept Cas from a normal life, a family. He didn't like the train of thought, so he drove back to Cas' apartment.

He slumped down on the sofa. There weren't any hunts on at the moment, and Sam was at work. He could always pester Bobby, but right now he felt like being lazy.

Which was of course the perfect opportunity for Crowley to text him.

He was too meet him in a bar somewhere in Chicago, and Dean groaned, not as annoyed as he pretended to be.

They had met a few times since Aynät had been safely locked away in Hell. At first, Dean had thought that Crowley had errands for him, but he had never asked him to do anything, and he was beginning to believe that what he and the King of Hell did could be called "catching up".

Oddly enough, he didn't mind. He still wanted to strangle him most of the time, but he was certainly one of the better demons he had met. And he couldn't deny that in the end Crowley had been right there with them, fighting.

Dean teleported to the address of the bar. It might have only been 9:26 am, but if Crowley wanted a drink, he'd get it.

"Dean".

"Crowley".

The bar was empty except for them; there wasn't even a bartender around, and Dean was instantly suspicious. Why would Crowley break into an empty bar? He preferred to be served.

He eyed the demon.

"New suit?"

"You noticed. I'm flattered." Crowley took a sip of his Craig while Dean served himself.

"So, how's Hell?" he asked, watching the whiskey swirl in his glass.

Crowley sighed dramatically.

"To be honest, it's been Hell. I've been trying to show these black-eyed brads a new way, but they are..." he trailed off.

"Demons?" Dean suggested.

"Exactly". Crowley took another sip.

"Of course, not that you have to worry about it. How's life with your pretty agent?"

Dean could have been annoyed, but there wasn't any malice in Crowley's words, and it gave him a thrill to have Cas referred to as his.

"Cas is good" he told him.

Crowley had a strange expression on his true face, the one of his meatsuit composed as always; he studied Dean for a few moments before pulling something that looked like old parchment out of his pocket.

He laid it on the counter between them.

Dean looked at him.

"You have done exceptionally well. Consider this a bonus" Crowley said, but Dean could see that he was more affected than he let on.

"What is it?" he asked, picking it up and studying it.

Old Latin again, but luckily not as obscure as the ritual Aynät had been trying to complete.

He understood and let the parchment drop.

"I was hoping you would handle my presents with more care – "

"A cure for demons?" Dean all but shouted.

"Yes." Crowley looked into his glad. "I found it in one of the bottomless pits the management before me used to drop such things in. I immediately thought of you, of course. It will be a big disappointment to you, but you simply aren't cut out for this life. You are great with a knife, but these attachments to humans and the human lifestyle..."

Dean barely listened. He had picked the parchment up and was going over the cure.

It was manageable. If it really worked...

He took a deep, shaky breath, looked at Crowley and said, "Thank you".

The demon's eyes widened, then he deliberately looked away again.

The air suddenly felt a lot tenser. Should he just go?

Then Crowley met his eyes once more and said matter-of-factly, "You make your deals and you keep them."

It was the closest they would ever come to an honest conversation.

"So you give me this? I'm a hunter".

Crowley smirked.

"Of course you could turn on me the moment you're human and start using it on my people and hunt me down – but where would be the fun in that?"

Dean couldn't help but smile as he vanished.

He was at Bobby's a moment later, startling him.

He had his shot gun pointed at Dean before he grumbled, "Damn it, boy, would it kill you to knock?"

As an answer, he shoved the parchment under his nose.

It took Bobby a few minutes to read it through, then he looked at Dean.

"And?" he asked impatiently. "Do you think it's legit?"

Maybe it wouldn't work.

But if it did –

He could have this. A life, a human life. With Cas and Sam and Bobby and Sarah.

"It looks like it" Bobby said carefully. He looked up, his eyes shining. "I'll have to do more research, but if it works... Dean".

"I know" he said, still unable to fully grasp what it meant. "I know".

He took out his phone and called Cas, Bobby shooing him away because he needed peace and quiet for the research.

He appeared near Cas' office building.

"Hey, you on your way to a crime scene or can you take an early lunch break?"

"That would be very early" Cas replied.

"It's just – I have something to tell you" Dean explained. His hands were shaking. If this was true...

"Is everything alright? There's this one report, but it can wait..."

"No" Dean interrupted him, realizing he'd worried Cas. "Just finish it. We have time".

"Are you sure?"

"Yes", he said softly, imagining Cas' expression when he would explain to him over a "very early lunch" that soon they would indeed have all the time in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have spent several months with this fanfiction - more than with any other - and I want to thank you all. I couldn't have done it without your comments and kudos.
> 
> Have a wonderful first of December!


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